


A Chronic Desire

by Recourse



Series: Book and Candle [2]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Witches, Dark Fantasy, Emotional neglect, F/F, Parental Abuse, Self-Harm, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recourse/pseuds/Recourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max Caulfield was born with the ability to see the future. Her parents always planned to send her to Blackwell Academy to hone her gift, but after a disaster strikes the school, she's instead sent to study under the Oracle Chase as his apprentice. The problem is his (literal) witch of a daughter, Victoria; Max immediately gets off on the wrong foot with her, and it looks like it's going to be a very long and stressful apprenticeship indeed unless she can fix this problem...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Much Too Sensitive To Survive

_An Oracle’s apprentice._

That’s the thought that keeps coming back into Max’s mind as she stares down the gates of the Chase Estate. That’s what she’s going to be. _Already._ There were so many plans to prepare her for this first, but they all fell away months ago when the refugees started streaming into Sealth. There’d been letters sent back and forth for months after that, each one giving Max increasingly large goosebumps, until the final message came through:

_I accept your proposal. Send Maxine to my estate, and I will instruct her in the ways of divination. Thank you for your contributions to Witchdom. I will ensure that Maxine becomes a fine example of her kind. Her gift will not go to waste under my watch._

So now she’s here. The grounds of the estate stretch out beyond the golden spirals of the gate, the fine white stone of the Chase manor dominating the horizon. Just beyond that massive house, she can see the beginnings of the famous Nexus Gardens, rows and rows of hedges arranged in inscrutable patterns — or at least, inscrutable from the ground. Max’s done her research; she knows they form runes if viewed from a god’s-eye perspective. She wraps her fingers around the bars of the gate, yearning to explore.

She doesn’t know how, exactly, that she’s supposed to signal that she’s arrived. The journey from Sealth to the Chase properties isn’t always predictable; the wards around the roads tend to shift oddly as they wind through the Wilds, meaning it could take several extra days depending on the whim of the ley-lines that causes most magic around here to get a little...fuzzy. Max turns back to look at where she’d come from, the dense tangle of forest held at bay by glittering particles forming a thin wall. She fingers the carved butterfly pendant around her neck and shivers at the memories of what she saw on the way here, the creatures that lurked just beyond the barriers to watch travelers, waiting for them to step out of line.

Max had stepped out of line, once or twice. Just to look, or because the wards had just shifted and she’d lost track of them. She’s glad that her parents were smart enough to buy the charm as insurance. She’s sure she would’ve gotten snared by one of the monsters out there without it.

Money. She feels a little pang of guilt in her stomach. This whole thing is going to cost them so much money. Not for the first time, she wishes she’d never heard her first prophecy. It would’ve been a lot easier on the family if she’d just been...normal.

But also. _Oracle’s apprentice._

And then a foreign voice comes into her mind. She recognizes it, she’s been hearing it since she was six. The goddess of fate. She stops breathing, trying to decipher the divine language, focusing her mind. It all seems like jibberish, as usual, until something jumps out, something like _She is coming here._

Not very specific.

Max huffs and puts her hands on her hips, now more than tired of sitting outside the gates and waiting for someone to notice her. She needs to start! This Oracle needs to teach her how to get a handle on these little messages from the gods or they’ll just keep being frustratingly vague forever.

As if on cue, the front door of the manor opens, and out walks a strikingly handsome blond man, dressed in a tailored suit and carrying a gold-headed cane. He’s ...bigger than Max imagined, all broad shoulders and height, and it’s more than a little intimidating, the way he’s walking so purposefully towards her, brown eyes fixed on her. Max adjusts the pack on her back nervously as he comes up to the gate.

“Maxine Caulfield?” he asks, stabbing his cane into the ground and eyeing her up and down.

“It’s, uh, it’s just Max,” Max mumbles, avoiding his gaze.

“Speak up, girl.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s me,” Max says, a little too loudly. “I’m here for—”

“I know why you’re here,” he sighs, looking bored of her already. “She told me you would arrive today.”

 _Of course,_ Max thinks, wanting to smack herself in the face. _I didn’t need to do anything, of course he’d just know, it's literally his job._

“You’re a mess,” he adds, narrowing his eyes at her. “With the amount of money your parents are putting up, I thought they’d send you with a guard. You came through the Wilds yourself?”

Max nods, tongue tight in her mouth, mind suddenly on how frazzled her hair is, all the dirt under her nails. His expression is hard to read. “Well,” he says slowly. “I suppose that’s actually rather impressive. But we need to get you cleaned up and presentable before my wife returns this evening.”

Max breathes a sigh of relief as he reaches out a hand and touches three spots on the gate’s lock, and it slowly starts to swing open on its own accord. She steps back just as he steps forward, sticking out a hand.

“Oracle Victor Chase,” he says. Max’s hand is entirely consumed by his as he grips down hard and shakes once. “I’ll take you to your room, but then I’m afraid I have some work to do before my wife’s party arrives. I have a prophecy to deliver. When they’ve left, we can begin your training.”

Max just nods again, uncertain if he really wants her to speak or not. Apparently not, because he just turns and heads back into the manor, Max trailing behind him on uncertain and weary feet. _My room._ The thought of that suddenly fills Max with longing for a real bed, so maybe she’ll save the exploration of the gardens for after she’s bathed and slept for about a hundred years.

A butler bows to Victor as they enter, and Max instinctively bows back. Victor seems to pay the man no mind, and Max has to skip a few steps to catch up to him as he leads her through the halls of the mansion, heading up the central staircase and to the left.

“Oh, I suppose I should introduce you to my daughter as well,” he says, stopping suddenly in front of a door just before the end of this wing. Max nearly bumps into him as he turns and quickly opens the door, startling a young woman, about Max’s age, who’s sitting on her bed with a book on her lap. She’s got Victor’s blond hair, cut short to frame her face.

She quickly closes the book and places it face-down on the bed as she gets to her feet, standing stiffly at attention and smoothing her sleek, fashionable black-and-purple dress as Victor walks in.

“This is Victoria,” Victor announces, and Max instinctively curls up her mouth. That’s a little narcissistic, naming your daughter after yourself, right? She catches Victoria’s eyes and sees her wearing a little disgusted expression to match Max’s own, and she’s not sure what that means. “She was head of the Vortex Guild at Blackwell Academy, but, as I’m sure you know, that had to be cut short. She’s meant to be still be studying witchcraft,” Victor adds, but then his gaze falls on the book’s spine. “Not that she’s always reading what she should be.”

Max follows his eyes and sees the book’s title: _Hero of the Academy._ Her eyebrows shoot up. She remembers that little novel series, she used to spend all her spare coin on new volumes as soon as the caravans rolled into town from Citadel. Maybe she and Victoria have something in common after all. She looks back to Victoria, who’s apparently decided to stare at her feet, a flush in her cheeks.

“Victoria, this is Maxine Caulfield, my new apprentice,” Victor continues, apparently unconcerned with his daughter’s silence and moodiness. “She’ll be staying with us for at least a year.”

Victoria looks up briefly to shake Max’s hand, and there’s something strange in her look. Eyebrows slanted down, lips pursed. Max sort of wants to shrink away from that angry stare. “Nice to meet you,” Victoria says through gritted teeth, and Max wonders what she did so wrong already. Of course she’s messing this up. Why wouldn’t she?

Victor continues his streak of seeming disinterested in his daughter’s mood. “Now, come along, Maxine,” he says, turning to go. “Victoria needs to get back to studying, and you need to have your...things taken care of.”

“It—it was nice to meet you too,” Max stammers before quickly turning to follow Victor, cheeks burning. The last thing she needs is for Victoria to hate her; that will only cause problems. What did she do wrong? Is it just like Victor said, she looks like too much of a mess? These people, everything in this house, they’re all so _clean_ and fancy and so much more than Max. She feels like an impostor, pretending she could ever become an Oracle and gain this kind of status. She doesn’t belong here.

“This is your room,” Victor says, indicating the door at the end of the hall. “I must get back to my work, but should you need assistance — and you do, if you’re to appear at dinner tonight — simply touch the gem by the side of the door to summon the staff. I expect you to be bathed and dressed appropriately by six o’clock tonight. Am I understood?”

Max looks down and mumbles a “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. I look forward to bringing out your talent, Maxine.” Without another word, Victor pivots and heads back down the hall.

Max sighs with relief, relaxing her posture and slumping gratefully. She didn’t realize how on-alert she was until Victor left. This is going to be one tense apprenticeship.

She slowly opens the door to her room, looking around as though waiting for a trap to spring. It’s...really, really nice. That is a _very_ comfortable-looking bed. She glances around the walls, spotting expensive-looking paintings and — there’s the clock. It’s noon. Okay, that’s manageable. She has time for a mini-freakout before she has to start...summoning staff.

She looks at the diamond embedded in the wall, and wonders what she’s supposed to do with it. Touch it, he said, and then what? Just...talk?

Maybe later.

With a sigh, she closes the door and dumps her pack onto the floor, falling face-first onto the bed for just a little while because, _wow._ That feels. Really good. Gods, has her back hurt for the last few days. She considers just crawling under the covers and sleeping through dinner, but that’s not exactly a great way to make a first impression, so with a grumpy groan she slides off the bed and sits in front of her pack. She unbuttons it and starts pulling out what she took from home, the few objects that mattered enough to pack in beside her bedroll.

A few changes of clothes, probably too raggedy for this place anyway. Her stuffed owlbear, ragged and missing a button-eye, but it still feels nice to hold him, to remember that fair in Arcadia where she’d met her first friend and won a prize with her. Her stomach sinks as she thinks, pulling out a small wooden box.

She breathes carefully as she runs her fingers over the top of it, over the initials carved in its surface. M.C. + C.P. It was supposed to be a set of two. Ordered as soon as she was told that she were going to be moving to Sealth. She opens it and studies the crystal ball inside, running her fingers along its smooth curve.

Why did she even bother to bring this? She’s never worked up the courage to use it, and now...now Arcadia’s gone. She wonders where this ball’s twin lies, or if it even survived that disaster that befell her hometown. She wonders if Chloe even cared enough to keep it as long as Max has. She should’ve contacted Chloe a long time ago, should’ve...

She tried. The night she heard, she placed the bound lock of blond hair under the ball’s base and recited the incantation and got...nothing. Then she tried to use it just to see Chloe, just to watch her, and that didn’t do anything either. And she doesn’t know what that means. Even if Chloe...even if she died, she should’ve still seen the body, right? The spell’s bound to her hair, and therefore to her, so...

She snaps the box closed. No use thinking about it. It’s over. You screwed up and now she’s gone. You’re an Oracle’s apprentice now, not the best friend of some sorcerer’s kid. Get used to your new life and stop.

Still, she places the box on the nightstand. She can’t imagine throwing it away.

Once she’s unpacked most of her things, she stares at the diamond. Talking to more people sounds exhausting. But it has to be done.

Just before she places her finger on the gem, she remembers. _Victoria went to Blackwell._ Maybe she knew Chloe. Maybe she knows what happened.

Okay. Then that can be the goal for today. Find some excuse to talk to Victoria and try to not make her hate you. If you can even do that.

She holds her breath as she presses her finger to the gem. Time to get presentable.


	2. Doomed to Bloom

Maxine fucking Caulfield.

Victoria’s been hearing that name for months now. The diviner girl from Sealth. And why not? Not like Victoria was born with the gifts of either of her parents. Of course they’d find someone to replace her eventually, someone who’s actually worth something, someone who can talk to gods. Victoria’s been imagining what she must look like, but all she’s been getting is Rachel Amber. Beautiful and perfectly-dressed, long blonde hair and a wicked smile, coming back from the dead to upstage her one last time.

Well. She doesn’t know that Rachel’s dead. It might even be Rachel, who’s to know? It’d make sense. That’s just the way Victoria’s life seems to go.

But somehow, this is actually worse than that. The minute Victoria spies the short, skinny, messy girl that his father’s leading into her room (unannounced as usual), she’s incensed. _This_ is the apprentice Victor’s taking, instead of training his own daughter? _This_ is the girl who’s going to be an Oracle while Victoria struggles to be known for anything? This girl with the bright blue eyes, freckles spattered across her face under a layer of Wilds grime, brown hair knife-cut and scraggly, _this_ is Victoria’s final replacement?

It’s so pathetic. Victoria cringes when Victor makes one of his usual disparaging comments about her reading material. He’s right. She should be studying. All the time. She’s not like Maxine, or Rachel, or her parents. She has to work hard to get anything at all, and even if she does, she’ll never be an Oracle, or a Master of Rituals. That’s not in the cards for her, and it is for Maxine fucking Caulfield. This _nothing_ in front of her, looking shy and nervous and uncertain of herself, will always be better than Victoria.

She grits her teeth when she offers her paltry pleasantry, and she’s glad to see that girl go. She closes the door (because Victor didn’t, of course) and clenches her fists at her sides, trying to breathe.

It’s fine. Tonight, Mom’s coming home, and Victoria can leave for Citadel with her. Like they’d talked about last time. Well, like Victoria talked about while Mom was re-applying her glamour and said “Mm,” a couple of times. But that’s about what she can expect from her parents on the best of days, and it’s her best shot. Head to the capital and find a place among the witching ranks there. Get out of this stupid house and into somewhere real. Maybe she could even perform some of Mom’s new rituals, and she’d finally be worth something to her parents.

Yeah. Yeah, okay. She just has to not mess up at dinner. Not get outshown by Maxine fucking Caulfield. That shouldn’t be too hard. The girl looks like a peasant. Victoria walks over to the mirror on the wall and checks her glamour, placing a finger on the burn scar on her cheek, where Chloe Price pressed a burning digit seconds before everything went to hell. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It feels like old jerky when she touches it, but there’s no sign of any disruption in her flawless skin on the image in the mirror. Still, might be worth a touch-up. Around here, magic gets screwy, even the simple stuff. Another reason to leave.

 

* * *

 

 

Well, fuck.

Victoria freezes when she sees Maxine at the other end of the dining room. How can she have done all _that_ in six hours? Her hair’s...perfect, soft and brushed and probably trimmed a little, too. The servants must’ve made her up, because those blue eyes really pop out now, and her lips look just a little bit pinker, and her freckles...

Those are the same.

But she’s _clean._ More than just clean, really. The tailor must’ve worked hard to get her into that dress, but the pink is really working for her. As is that little butterfly pendant around her neck. Was that there before? It must’ve been, because Victoria can see the blue runes shining under the chandelier, the markers of a charm to protect her from the dangers of the Wilds.

Victoria’s fists clench at her sides, remembering how precious charms had been in those desperate hours after the Arcadia wards fell. How hard they’d struggled to find a druid to protect while he made them for everyone he could. And here Maxine is, just wearing one like it’s no big deal, just coming here through the Wilds like it’s no big deal. Like it’s just what you do to get ahead. The way Victoria had so carelessly abused magic in that final day before the Wilds invaded.

Well. Maxine isn’t perfect. Barely anything on her chest, despite the tailor’s best efforts, and she’s skinny and underfed in comparison to Victoria’s perfect, tall frame. And even better, she looks distinctly uncomfortable in her finery. The jewelry seems too big for her fingers and ears. She fidgets under Victoria’s steely glare, glancing up as if hoping to see Victoria looking at someone else. Victoria focuses her gaze instead. Keep her down. Make her understand that she’s stealing Victoria’s place and that she doesn’t belong here, will never belong here.

It shouldn’t matter, but it really does. That Maxine not _ever_ think she has power over Victoria, the way Rachel did. Victoria will not let that happen again. Never.

And then, Maxine does something weird. She gives Victoria a shaky little smile and raises a hand for a limp wave. Victoria curls her nose. No. That’s not okay, not at all. They’re nothing alike and Maxine needs to learn that now.

With a huff, Victoria turns her head away from Maxine and takes her place beside the head of the table as her mother’s party starts to shuffle in, a group of witches and wizards that are always in tow behind the Shaper to offer their auras to the gods in exchange for her ability to create new spells. They’re always different, each time that mother comes back to visit, to keep up this sham of a marriage. Victoria knows the turnover rate in her mother’s staff is quite high. She’s never satisfied. No one’s ever enough for her.

After Maxine is introduced to everyone, her parents sit at opposite ends of the table, Maxine beside Victor. Victoria waits out their discussion, watching Maxine struggle to understand which piece of cutlery is to be used for each course as the chefs bring out more and more. Victoria wonders if Maxine’s ever even eaten food this fine, if that little mouth of hers has ever tasted the things that Victoria’s always been fed. If she can even appreciate everything that random chance has dumped straight in her lap.

After Mom asks about any new prophecies that Victor’s cooked up and is told that yes, a new and useful one is written down in his office, the conversation stops for a moment as people tuck into the main meal, wild salamander from the wilds that the chefs claim ‘tastes like solid fire.’ Victoria’s not too sure it does, but she knows that now is when she should ask.

“So,” she begins, swallowing as she turns to her mother, facing down steady green eyes, “I’ll be returning with you to Citadel tomorrow to start work, right?”

Maribeth regards her coolly, setting down her fork and steepling her fingers before answering, letting Victoria’s stomach drop.

“We...we discussed this on your last visit,” Victoria reminds her.

“I remember.” Maribeth’s putting on the appearance of _thinking,_ which doesn’t help Victoria’s nerves. The silence enveloping the dining room doesn’t help, either. Or Max’s eyes on her from down the table, wide open, looking like she’s staring into Victoria’s soul.

After what seems like an eternity, Maribeth finally says, “I’m afraid things in Citadel are still too hectic, Victoria. After what happened to Arcadia, we’re all struggling to find a way to protect against that kind of magic, and I don’t think it’s the best place for an untrained witch to get her start right now.”

“I’m not untrained!” Victoria insists, even as her cheeks burn, even knowing what she sounds like. “I was head of the Vortex Guild at Blackwell, I escaped Arcadia and I helped a lot of other people escape too, mother, I can _handle_ hectic situations, I can help you enhance a protection spell—” 

“Your father tells me you’re wasting your time with frivolous nonsense instead of taking your study seriously. If I can’t trust you to work independently, without teachers grading you, how can I expect you to adjust to real life in Citadel? The answer is no, Victoria. And you will not argue with me again. Perhaps next time, if your father tells me you’re ready.”

Victoria looks down at her lap. “Yes, mother,” she murmurs, feeling the eyes of every single person in the room on her. At least her glamour doesn’t let her humiliated blush show through. Hopefully.

She wants nothing more than to ask to be excused, so she can be alone and let this pressure behind her eyes break. So she can let down her guard for five seconds and not have to fear more cutting words. But that would just prove what Maribeth thinks, that she’s too immature, too frivolous to ever join her mother’s world. To ever be anyone.

It takes an eternity for dinner to end. Victoria keeps her eyes on her plate, despite catching glimpses of Maxine’s little nervous glances at her throughout the rest of the evening. She can make it through this. It’s no worse than it’s ever been, except for the fact that they’ve finally found someone who evidently is good enough for them. Who deserves Victor’s time and attention and training, the way Victoria never did.

She keeps her tongue still, even as the guests offer casual theories to each other about the nature of the spell that brought down all the Arcadia wards at once. Everyone knows it wasn’t a warlock or any other creature of the Wilds that brought down the barriers; the corrupted magic of the Old Ones is repelled by wards, that’s the entire idea, it takes hours for a single hole in the barrier to be carved out by warlock attack. The sorcerers in town all heard the same scream, felt the same arcane blast in their bones, they told everyone: this was one of our own. Victoria’s never been asked about her own theory. She’s not sure if she has one. Just a feeling.

Victoria kneads her fist on her lap. They take her survival for granted. Like it didn’t take so much work to stay alive as the werewolves prowled outside the dorms, as the monstrous bats swooped from the sky and drained the blood of students too slow to get inside the emergency protection fields, as all the horrors of the Wilds descended upon them, drawn by that same scream. If the wards had just gone down, there would’ve been time. If that sound hadn’t echoed through the Wilds and everything that shared its energies, alerted every predator to Arcadia’s vulnerability. Instead, Victoria had watched dragonfire consume the town while chanting incantations to hold the temporary walls steady.

They think she was lucky. They’ve never even asked how she got out, what she did. There are more important and knowledgeable people to ask those questions. And to them, it’s all a curiosity, a game. Something to get ahead of by crafting the perfect ward to prevent it, to impress the Magister and get them more status and privilege. The disaster is all that’s on anyone’s minds, but they don’t care about those who actually lived through it. It’s all academic.

Finally, dessert is finished, the guests are excused to their own rooms, her parents get up and seem to head to bed with looks of great determination, and Maxine’s left fidgeting at the table while Victoria gathers the will to move. She doesn’t want to get up and think about living here for...for however long it takes before Maribeth decides it’s time to keep up appearances again. Months, maybe.

She’s staring so hard at the tablecloth that Maxine’s finger tapping her on the shoulder makes her jump. “What, what?!” she exclaims, hating how startled she sounds as she looks up into Maxine’s face.

“Victoria, are you okay?” Maxine asks, stepping back and shrinking into herself as Victoria stands up. “You look a little...”

“What do you care?” Victoria snarls, whipping away from her and starting deliberately for her own room. _Shut up, Maxine. Don’t you dare pretend you’re concerned. I won’t play your games. I’m done being played._

“Wait!” Maxine cries, trailing after her. “Hold on!”

“You’re making a scene,” Victoria hisses as she climbs the stairs.

Maxine puts on a burst of speed and suddenly she’s in front of Victoria at the top of the stairs, putting her hands out like she’s afraid Victoria’s going to slam into her. Victoria puts a hand on her hip.

“What do you _want?_ ” Victoria sighs, rubbing at her temples.

“W-what did I do wrong?” Maxine asks, and looking at her face...

Wide open. Eyebrows up. She looks so vulnerable, so honest.

“We—we’re going to be living together, and I j-just...” Maxine deflates, apparently losing whatever courage she’d had before under Victoria’s unwavering glare.

“You j-just what?” Victoria asks, her voice high and mocking. “J-just thought I have to treat you like a goddess like everyone else?”

“Victoria—”

“Get out of my way. I need to study, didn’t you _hear_?” Victoria’s voice cracks on the last word and she wants to curse herself.

Maxine bites her lip. “T-that’s why I was asking if you were okay. The way your mom—”

“You don’t know me, Maxine,” Victoria growls, finally just physically pushing her out of the way. “And you’re not going to. I’m getting off this estate as soon as possible. You can rot here with Father.”

“It’s just Max,” Maxine murmurs as Victoria stalks past her, heading for the at least feigned-privacy of her own room. Not that there’s a lock. Not that anyone ever asks before coming inside. Not for the first time, she misses the control she had at Blackwell. Well, the control over everyone but Rachel. She wishes people were intimidated by her again, wishes people didn’t look down on her.

Maxine’s looking up at her, still trying to keep pace, still trying to earn favor. But Victoria’s ignoring those pleading blue eyes. If they didn’t live in the same direction, at least Victoria could tell Maxine to stop following her. How irritating.

“Victoria,” Maxine says quietly as Victoria’s fingers wrap around the doorknob. “We don’t have to be enemies. I’m—it’s...” She seems to sigh at herself. “I’m alone here too.”

“And that’s how you’re going to stay,” Victoria replies, wrenching open her door and slamming it behind her once she’s inside.

 _She’s so_ pathetic _,_ Victoria thinks as she presses her back to the door and puts a hand over her eyes. _So desperate for any approval._

_Just like me._


	3. Found You Wanting

So, that went _really_ well.

Getting through to Victoria is looking like a year-long project at this point. Max groans at the closed door in front of her. It’s obvious Victoria’s not happy, but why does she have to take it out on Max? Can’t Max at least have one friend her own age if she’s going to be living here and learning to tell the future?

She heads back to her room and, once the door is closed, immediately starts to get out of her dress, its laces and buttons and every other pinching part of it finally releasing her from their hold. She looks at her pack, still on the floor, and desperately misses the simple clothes she’d worn working her father’s market stall in Sealth. A bit threadbare and ugly, sure, but at least nothing made it hard to breathe. Hopefully every outfit won’t be this confining; Victor will surely provide something more practical for everyday wear, right?

She heads into the washroom and looks into the mirror, running her fingers through her hair, mussing it up so it looks less...

Max isn’t sure what she’s trying to get rid of, but the super-combed, straight look feels wrong. She likes the girl in the mirror better once her (frankly overstated) makeup is washed away, when her hair’s a little scraggly. She looks like someone she could imagine herself approaching instead of the perfect apprentice that must seem to Victoria to be—

That’s why.

Max is replacing Victoria.

Max slumps forward, putting her elbows on the sink. No _wonder_ Victoria hates her so much already. She’s waltzing into her house and taking all her father’s attention, all his hopes and dreams that are supposed to belong in his daughter. And tonight, at dinner, Victoria’s mother rejected her too.

Max knows what it’s like to be alone. After the move, she’d felt so isolated despite the thousands of souls surrounding her in that big new city. But she’d always had her parents, even if they were so busy. Max feels a drop of guilt trickling through her insides. What right does she have to deny Victoria even that? After she escaped Arcadia and probably lost all her friends, what right does Max have to come along and steal away her father, too?

But she does have a gift. And her parents are paying the equivalent of a Blackwell tuition to this one man. And if Max doesn’t do this, she’ll never get to use the powers the gods gave to her, she’ll waste away, becoming one of those untrained fortune-tellers littering the streets of Sealth that are more hope than truth.

Still, she feels sick as she climbs into bed. She thought she could just talk to Victoria about Arcadia, like that wouldn’t hurt her even more, like what happened to her there isn’t probably her worst memory. Such an _idiot._ Max needs to prove herself first, she needs Victoria to know that she doesn’t want to hurt anyone, even if she’s doing it by accident now.

She falls asleep hoping that Victoria can believe her someday.

 

* * *

 

She dreams of fire.

No — she dreams of water.

No, again — a storm.

An incredible storm.

A burning tornado, twisting through the Wilds and tearing them to shreds, monsters turning to ash and dust as it whirls through them. Harpies, dragons, bats and wyverns fly up to escape the carnage, scattering into the bright blue sky. Stones tear themselves from the ground and join the destruction, morphing into sharp spears and flying into the throats of the flyers. Max’s vision blurs as she stands behind the shimmer of a ward, staring at the oncoming end. Between the clouds in the funnel, a blurry silhouette floats in the center of the tornado, arms outstretched. A symbol glows on its right arm, four runes spreading like a compass rose from a single point.

Fate whispers in Max’s ear as the tornado tears away the trees in front of her and approaches the line of the wards.

_She is coming here._

_She is coming back._

 

* * *

 

Max awakens to the sun rising in her window, skin slick with sweat. She knows what that was. Heart pounding, she jumps out of bed and runs to the diamond on the wall.

“Victor,” she breathes, remembering how she’d had to tell it who to contact (something which had taken her a while to figure out beforehand, shouting uselessly at the gem). The diamond lights up a second later, bright white, and Victor’s voice reverberates through the room.

“I hope you have a reason for this, Maxine,” Victor grumbles. “It is quite early to be disturbing my work.”

“I-I had a vision,” Max stammers. “Last night. I know it was a vision. I’ve never had one before, but I know.”

“Without any training whatsoever?” Victor asks. “I suppose there’s a reasonable explanation for that, but it’s still somewhat of a surprise. You must have a particularly strong connection to Fate.”

“Wait, what explanation?” Max says.

“My estate is located on a ley nexus for a reason. Magic follows the ley lines across a large portion of the continent to end up here, warping the Wilds and arcane enchantments both. The air you’re breathing now is dripping with power. The gods watch this place closely.” Victor makes a low hum. “Get dressed and meet me in my office in an hour. We’ll try to interpret your vision. If it’s too vague, we may have to actually begin your training to give you a stronger grasp of it.”

“Yes — yes, of course.” Max rocks back and forth on her heels, remembering the power of the wind in her dream, the floating silhouette. The sense of overpowering dread. She’s not sure if she’s excited or terrified.

 

* * *

 

After the servants dress her in a thankfully easier-to-wear blue gown, Max is led by the butler to the study, where Victor sits like some king of all books in the center of the round room, bent over the desk and furiously writing something in a journal. When Max enters, he looks up.

“Maxine,” he says curtly, snapping the journal shut and putting it in a drawer. He pulls up another one, almost identical, and places it on the desk as Max takes the seat in front of the desk. “So. Tell me about your vision.”

Max explains everything, the storm, the silhouette, the glowing symbol, Fate’s whispered words. He frowns.

“A classic early vision,” he says. “A sign that Fate favors you, but that you’ve given her nothing in return yet. One can interpret these visions, but it’s often something of a fool’s game. Some older traditions used to have entire books dedicated to finding symbols and how they combine and how they’re all a language, and that is true, and it can be done, but it’s often only a partial truth at best. Still, what interests me most is the symbol you described.” He pushes the inkwell and quill across the desk to Max. “Can you draw what you saw?”

Max fingers the quill, thinking, trying to recall the lines. “I—maybe.”

“Try.”

Max tries. It comes out looking sloppy, not quite right, the image is fuzzy and so Max’s reproduction is uncertain and sort of scratchy. Victor twirls the journal around when she’s finished and looks over her work, hand on his chin.

“You can’t recall it exactly, can you?” Victor asks.

Max bows her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Still, this is interesting. Almost familiar.” Victor rubs his chin, then tears the page out of the journal and crumples it. “We won’t keep it. We will make your vision clear.”

Max feels a little silly at having drawn so carefully only to have her work destroyed, but she nods anyway. “How?”

“All arcane magic is an exchange between mankind and the gods,” Victor begins, standing up and dumping the page in a wastebasket. He begins to pace the small room. “Witches and wizards humble themselves to receive their favor and power. Shapers, like my wife, give up their energy or the energy of others to infuse objects, symbols, and gestures with meaning. Druids sacrifice their blood to purify corrupted energy and create charms. Diviners like ourselves are much like shapers, only we are solitary. We do not work together, unlike the camaraderie between witches and shapers, and we serve and speak to only one goddess, Fate.”

“If we don’t work together, how can you train me?” Max interrupts.

Victor shoots her a narrow-eyed look. “Do not interrupt me, Maxine,” he warns.

Max folds her hands and looks at her lap until Victor resumes his pacing.

“Put simply, we must transfer the arcane power of _other gods_ to Fate. Any spell a witch or wizard casts results in residual power becoming ‘stuck’ to them, creating what sorcerers call an ‘aura’. True Oracles are skilled wizards, because in order for us to receive clear, unambiguous prophecy, we must gain our auras and then give them up to Fate, again and again. _That_ is what I can teach you to do.” Victor stops for a moment, looking down at Max. “There are other parts, of course, to being an Oracle that you must learn. Once you’ve performed your first real trade, you will find that Fate is present constantly in your life, playing her little games. Symbols in tea leaves, glimpses in crystal balls, omens in clouds and animals crossing your path, phantom sounds to alert you to incoming dangers. Interpreting these is an important part of being an Oracle, but they will come later. For now, let’s work on giving you an aura. Follow me.”

Max jumps out and lets him lead her out of the door, actually, out of the entire house. They exit through the back door and into the Nexus Gardens, and Victor seems to know exactly how to navigate the hedge maze despite everything looking pretty much the same to Max.

They come to a circular pad of white stone in the center of the maze, a black altar sitting solidly within it, a velvet cloth over it.

“This is the exact center of the nexus,” Victor explains. “Spells cast here draw more power from the gods than anywhere else. They’re also unstable, as you might’ve noticed. Our wards need my reinforcement daily. In fact...” Victor looks down at his wrist, drawing back his sleeve to see his watch. “I should do that soon. Still, we can get you a weak aura, one that you can send to Fate tonight in exchange for a clearer vision. Besides,” he adds as he draws out a small spellbook from his jacket along with a piece of chalk, “You need this spell anyway.”

He flips to a specific page in the book, then hands both it and the chalk to Max. “I’ll be back shortly with the components. Draw the circle.”

Max studies the diagram for a moment. It’s labeled as simply _Glamour,_ and the circle Victor mentioned is double-lined, the space between the layers filled with runes. Max has performed a few little magic tricks, things her mother passed down, old spells so worn into the world that no work is required to cast them, no sacrifice of soul, no humility. This is clearly different. This is a real ritual.

She studies the diagram for a long while, unsure if she can even draw the circle itself, let alone the runes within it. There’s also offerings, a rose and two gems beside it in the center, labeled ‘ruby’. Max knows that gems have power; she’s seen the magic shops in Sealth, rows upon rows of uncut sapphires, emeralds, diamonds, extracted from the hoards of dragons by brave adventurers or formed from ordinary stone by druids or forged out of coal by sorcerers with their inborn fire. She’s never seen that power brought out, and the thought of it sends a shiver down her spine. Underneath the drawing is a phonetic writing out of the incantation that will draw the attention of whatever god grants this spell. Max wonders if Fate speaks that language.

Right. Draw the circle. Victor’s getting the offerings.

Max draws back the altar-cloth and begins. Her attempt isn’t...perfect. The lines wander a bit and the runes are cramped between them, but it looks mostly right. She doesn’t have time to try again anyway, because Victor’s coming back with the rose and the rubies, held delicately in each hand.

He looks over her work and curls his nose. “It will do,” he says sharply. “For a minor change, at least.”

Max withers a little as he places the offerings where they belong. But she has to ask, “A minor change to what?”

“All the truly powerful in the Warded Witchdom use glamour,” Victor replies. “Athar, god of beauty, can change your appearance for you, make you perfect. Fashions in glamour come and go, but not having it is a sign that one doesn’t possess the magical acumen to belong in real society. If you’re to be my apprentice, I expect you to have it.”

Max withers further. _Is he calling me ugly?_ she thinks, casting her eyes towards her feet. And then, _Is that his real face? Is that Victoria’s real face? She’s so pretty...is it a lie? How did no one tell me? How many nobles have I seen that weren’t real?_

“Now,” Victor says, clasping his hands behind his back. “Speak the incantation, and in your heart, surrender yourself to Athar. Imagine your face, free of those unsightly freckles, and he will create an illusion for you. Your offerings should be enough.”

Something in Max bristles. “W-what’s wrong with my freckles?” she asks, wanting to say something harsher but finding herself struggling under Victor’s gaze.

“Smooth and pale skin is preferred in Citadel these days. You will not embarrass me further than you already have,” Victor states. “Cast the spell.”  
Max’s fingers clench at her sides. Victor might be her mentor, but he’s _not_ her god. The idea that he gets to dictate her appearance, down to the _skin_ , itches at her in a way she can’t quite explain.

She’ll cast the spell on her own terms, she decides. Maybe something simple.

She places the spellbook down on the altar, under the circle, and reads the incantation, asking Athar to please give her green, green eyes. She stumbles on the words at first, Victor calling out corrections — of course he knows it by heart, he must cast it all the time — and she has to say the whole thing again. But it works. The rubies crack open and fizzle into coal, and the rose blackens and dies before her eyes, blowing away with a slight breeze. With a final flash of red light, the spell’s over. Max blinks a few times.

Victor looks her over and scowls. “I see,” he says dryly, grabbing the spellbook and stuffing it back into his jacket. “Very well. You should at least have an aura to give to Fate tonight.” He takes her by the upper arm. “You will learn to obey me, in time.”

“I didn’t—” Max stutters, “I—maybe I said it wrong—”

“One of the gifts of an Oracle is a sense for truth, Maxine,” Victor hisses, tugging her away from the altar and back through the maze. “You will start to find it very irritating when people lie to you.” He takes in a deep breath as he leads them past an opening.

“Now, you’re—” He stops in his tracks. He lets go of Max, then turns back and peers through the opening, Max nervously following his movement.

Victoria kneels in a flowerbed, fingers brushing softly over flimsy red-and-white petals, a watering can at her feet. She looks...peaceful. Until Victor speaks.

“Victoria, what are these?” he asks, stepping forward and threatening to crush one of the flowers with his shoe. Victoria jumps, then stands straight up, eyes tracking his feet. “When did you plant them?”

“They’re from the Wilds,” Victoria explains quickly, brushing dirt off her fingers. “Vampire blooms.”

“And are they useful?’ Victor continues, stepping forward and flattening one.

“Of course they are!” Victoria replies, indignance in her voice.

“And what spell calls for them?”

Victoria opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

“I keep telling you, Victoria. You cannot lie to me. Why are you planting _weeds_ in my garden?”

Victoria says nothing. Her jaw tightens, and Max meets her eyes. Defiant.

“I’ll send Abernathy to burn these tomorrow. They will fertilize the rose garden.” Victor says. “Victoria. Maxine. Both of you are to go to your rooms until I call for you. I’ve had enough of troublesome teenage girls before I’ve reinforced the wards.” Veins pop out on his hands. “I expect you to be _studying,_ Victoria. Not playing around with possibly-corrupted botany.”

“Yes, father,” Victoria replies, and her voice shakes.

“Both of you. Out of my sight. Now.”

Victoria rushes past both of them, and Max quickly turns to flee as well while Victor heads back towards the altar. Victoria’s nearly _running,_ and Max tries to catch up, but Victoria just stares doggedly ahead, at the manor, face tense.

Max wants to ask. _Why did you plant those?_ But she can’t, she’s done enough damage already with her stupid rebellious instincts. But then Victoria asks.

“So what did _you_ do?”

Max nearly collides with Victoria’s back as she stops dead in her tracks. “Huh?”

“I thought you’d just do whatever he wanted. That’s why you came here, isn’t it?” Victoria asks, pivoting to face her. “To be his little bitch.”

“I—I came here to learn,” Max replies, stepping back, unsure of how friendly this conversation’s going to end up.

Victoria sniffs. “Sure.” And then something catches her eyes. Her head jerks forward. “You had blue eyes before,” she accuses, pointing at Max.

“He had me cast glamour,” Max explains. “He—he wanted me to get rid of my freckles.”

“And you didn’t.” Victoria steps back. “You’re an idiot. You know how much the nobility _hate_ physical flaws? Cover them up next time. Don’t...” She sighs. “Don’t waste your fucking time fighting him. He always wins.”

She turns and runs inside, and before Max can catch up to her she’s already up the stairs and behind a slammed door. Max puts her fingertips to the wood and wishes she was already an Oracle, so she could somehow know how to fix this. So she could see a future where Victoria doesn’t hurt so much.

She heads back to her room. She opens the box on the nightstand.

For just a moment, a moment she can’t hold onto, there’s a flash of blue in the depths of the crystal ball.


	4. Nightfall's Garden

It’s getting harder to hate Maxine.

And that’s a problem. That’s a big problem, because it means that instead of sitting in her room and being able to direct all her energy towards hating Maxine, Victoria...doesn’t know what to do. She listlessly roams around, unable to even pick up a book and start reading, stuck thinking about being stuck here forever. Thinking about how pointless it all seems. And now Victor’s taken even her own little pet project from her, one of the only things on this estate that was her own. Tomorrow, the vampire blooms she’s been tending for months become ash, and she’ll still be here, waiting for something to change.

 _He always wins._ That’s what she’d told Maxine. And she’d called her an idiot, for doing what Victoria’s always doing, always trying to find something to do for herself and always having it ripped away from her. So if Maxine’s an idiot, Victoria’s a bigger idiot because she’s known this forever and she keeps fucking doing it. She should just give in. Do nothing but what he tells her to do. Sit like a golem waiting for orders until called. Think nothing. Feel nothing. Want nothing.

She’s already been idle for hours, anyway. Gone without lunch, maybe dinner; she’s not sure. The sun’s going down outside. Victor probably forgot about her. Too busy breaking Maxine of any habits that might make her too much like Victoria, no doubt. Victoria suddenly finds herself grateful she _wasn’t_ ever under his direct tutelage. She can’t imagine how tightly he’ll strangle someone that he thinks can actually improve his social status. Victoria’s not hungry anyway, not if it means seeing him at the dinner table and listening to his little needling comments. Sometimes it’s a blessing to be sent to her room.

A soft knock on the door breaks her out of her thoughts. It can’t be Victor. Victor never knocks. So it can only be...

Victoria opens the door and finds Maxine standing there, and is about ready to tell her to go fuck herself until she spots the bundle of red-and-white flowers in her hand.

Maxine grins at her. “Here,” she offers, thrusting the blooms forward.

Victoria’s not quite processing it. “Why?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“You should have something that’s yours,” Maxine says, suddenly looking nervous. “I thought...”

“You thought what? That he’s not gonna search my room the second he sees they’re not in the garden?” Victoria shoves her hand aside. “Are you _trying_ to get me in deeper shit?”

Maxine lowers her hand, a flush coming to her freckled cheeks. Still freckled. She bites her lip.“S-sorry, I didn’t...I...”

“I told you. He always wins. Let them fucking burn.” Victoria’s voice cracks despite herself. “Just get out of here.”

“I...I’ll keep them in my room. If you change your mind.” Maxine’s voice seems small and fading. Good. She needs to learn how to survive here, and if she doesn’t, she’ll drag Victoria down with her.

Or, at least, Victoria _thinks_ it’s good. What she’s feeling in her gut is another matter. The urge to reach out and touch the flowers is another matter.

“It’s not all of them,” Maxine says quickly, putting them behind her back. “He won’t notice they’re gone, I swear, I went out and got them when he was taking the food delivery. I’m sorry if—”

Victoria closes the door.

Another knock.

“What?” Victoria spits, swinging it open again.

“He—he actually sent me to get you for dinner,” Maxine clarifies.

Victoria heaves a sigh. “Fine. Fine. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Maxine stands there for a second, seeming unsure what to do.

“Go stash them or burn them or something, are you a total moron or what?” Victoria asks irritably. “I said I’ll be down in a minute.”

“R-right.”

Victoria rolls her eyes as Maxine runs off down the hall, closing her door for a second and taking in a breath.

What was _that?_

Victoria’s first thoughts are of Rachel Amber, her soft smiles and kind words and endless promises. And her exploitation, the way she found out Victoria’s inability to cast spells all those months ago and kept it as the tool in her arsenal. Rachel never gave something without wanting something back. That’s why it all fell apart once Victoria started to actually be able to use magic. But...

Would Rachel have ever done that? Risked herself like that, just to...

Why did Maxine _do_ that?

What good could it possibly do her? She should be ignoring Victoria. All Victoria can do is get in her way, make Victor doubt this whole apprenticeship project. Victoria’s already failed him; if Maxine starts associating with Victoria, she’ll just be marked as a failure too. Victoria’s poison. The most worthless Chase in the world by far. What does Maxine stand to gain by giving her gifts and speaking so nicely to her, trying so hard to get on her good side?

Victoria thinks of the downcast look on Maxine’s face after she rejected the gift.

Victoria needs to not think about that.

She checks her glamour in the mirror, instinctively touching her scar. She’s fine. She’s normal. She can make it through dinner. It’s usually silent anyway; Victoria doesn’t know why her father still bothers with the facade of family while her mother’s away. Maybe just a way to ensure that Victoria’s still stepping to his tune. Still available at his beck and call.

She heads downstairs and sits across from Maxine, in front of a plate that’s already been prepared for her. Victor sits at the head of the table, hands clasped under his chin.

He waits until both of them are settled before speaking. “I don’t know what it is that’s spurring the two of you to pointless rebellion,” he begins, glancing between them. “But, Victoria, remember that I am in constant communication with your mother regarding your education, your readiness to join her in Citadel. If you continue to waste your time on frivolities, I simply don’t know when I can advise that you enter the real world. Citadel is not a place for idle play.”

Victoria looks down at her plate. “Yes, father.”

“Maxine, while your ability is obvious and your potential unlimited, your lack of respect for me and for the traditions of Witchdom are going to land you in trouble — and worse, delay your training. Your parents have paid for one year of apprenticeship; if you are not prepared for the duties of an Oracle by then, I don’t know what you expect to accomplish. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Maxine replies, running a finger along her fork.

“There will be no more of what I witnessed today. Victoria, you will demonstrate to me your ability to reinforce the wards tomorrow, as well as a number of other magical tasks you should perform to maintain the manor’s gardens. I am going to test your abilities; you’ve clearly been slacking since you returned home. Maxine, I expect you to obey me when you apply your glamour.”

“But, sir,” Maxine begins, and Victoria cringes. _Stop it. Stop it. Let him have his way so he shuts up and we can move on with our lives._ “I—I think I should have the right to choose how I appear. I-if I’m not conforming to the latest fashions, you can blame it on me.”

Victor sighs. “Maxine, you are under my roof. If guests come and you’re looking like a peasant, it reflects poorly on me no matter how I explain it.”

“Well, I won’t do it,” Maxine declares, not sounding particularly confident in her own words. “I-if I’m going to be your apprentice, and an Oracle, I should—I want us to respect each other. Please respect my decision.”

“That’s enough, Maxine. I will not have you argue with me at the dinner table. You will appear how I wish for you to appear. You will understand this in time.”

Victoria shoots a glance across the table and finds Maxine’s troubled eyes, the hard set of her jaw. She recognizes the expression; she’d made it plenty of times in the months after she escaped Arcadia, thinking she could exercise some control herself after proving her power at Blackwell. But her parents didn’t budge regardless, and Victoria understood in time. That to them, she’s the same as she ever was. Never an equal.

Still, at least Maxine remains silent for the meal, and Victoria’s spared any more cutting words, any more criticism. Victor, for his part, looks troubled still, but determined. Victoria finds herself clenching her teeth, thinking of being ‘tested’ tomorrow. Thinking of having to spend so much time under his direct supervision makes her want to vomit.

When Victor’s plate is clear, he excuses himself with, “I need to enter a trance for Citadel’s new expansion efforts. Maxine, study the book of omens I gave you and interpret some of the signs you’ve been given today, especially those glimpses in the crystal ball you mentioned. Pray to Fate tonight and offer her your aura in exchange for a clear vision of that symbol — and _only_ that symbol. The rest of the vision can wait. Victoria, prepare components for ward reinforcement, rain summoning, and crop growth so that we can begin early tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Maxine and Victoria say at once.

“I will see you both early tomorrow morning. Maxine should witness your work, Victoria; she will need to perform it herself eventually if she wants to continue to strengthen her vision’s clarity.”

 _So she’s going to replace the one useful thing I can do,_ Victoria thinks bitterly, glaring at Maxine. _Of course. Anyone can do what I do anyway, and she’ll get more out of it._

She curls her fingers inward on the tablecloth, bunching it up in her grasp. The Chases had always planned for a blessed child. That was why they’d even gotten married, thinking that the gods granted gifts along bloodlines. And they ended up with a total dud.

Victoria and Maxine head up to their rooms, side-by-side in silence. Victoria steals glances at Maxine and still sees that determined look in her eye, that hard-set jaw. Just as they reach Victoria’s room, Maxine stops.

“Let’s find a place to plant them,” she whispers, putting a hand on Victoria’s shoulder.

“You really are stupid,” Victoria replies, pulling away. “Why would I ever—”

“Don’t you want to just...” Maxine huffs. “Have something of your own? He’s taken almost everything I have already, my clothes, everything, he even took my...” She trails off, rubbing her wrist. “Something really important to me. To punish me.”

“So, what, you want to give him something else to take away? No, Maxine. Gods, just — just give up. It’s easier. I need to get my components together.”

“If you change your mind, I’m right down the hall. He’s in a trance. He won’t know,” Maxine says, reaching out to touch Victoria’s shoulder again.

“He always finds out sometime,” Victoria mutters, turning away.

She spends the rest of the night gathering things from the cellar, from the pantries, from the gardens. Everything to make sure this estate can run smoothly. She does know all these spells, by heart. She has for a long time. She’s studied every spellbook they have, knows so much about how to prepare and cast rituals, she’s _ready._ But they’ll never believe her. She’s never enough for them.

She changes into her nightgown once she’s done, and she falls into her bed and tries to sleep. But she’s remembering. How over the last few months, tending the vampire blooms had been her nightly ritual. A release. Feeding them was always the way to get her mind to stop talking.

She tosses and turns and clenches her fists and she wants to just scream. She runs her hands along the hidden scar on her face and remembers the bright white pain of Chloe’s anger. She remembers taunting her about Rachel. Remembers everything from those final moments before the wards fell.

She shoots up out of bed and hates Maxine for giving her hope, hates Victor for taking it away, hates herself for getting ready to fall into another fucking trap. But she has to do this. She has to grab her silver knife and stuff it in her sleeve, has to leave her room and enter Maxine’s without a knock.

Maxine props herself up on her elbows, blinking at Victoria in the low light of the half-moon. “Victoria?” she mumbles.

“Where’d you put them?”

Maxine gives her a sleepy smile. “In the dresser, under my smallclothes.”

Victoria starts rummaging through the drawer in question as Maxine gets up, finding the bundle of flowers tied with a brown string. Their roots are dry and brown, but they can still live. Victoria knows they can.

“Where?” Maxine whispers.

”I’m planting them. You don’t need to know where.”

“Come on, Victoria,” Maxine pleads. stepping in front of her with her hands clasped before her. “I rescued them, can’t I at least—”

“No,” Victoria interrupts. “You don’t—”

“Please,” Maxine urges.

“You don’t want to have something else he can take from you,” Victoria finishes.

“Then why are you taking them?”

“I need to.”

“You don’t have to be alone,” Maxine says softly, laying her hand on top of Victoria’s. “Even if — even if he takes them again, at least you’ll have someone on your side.”

Maxine shouldn’t see this. She shouldn’t know why Victoria needs these. But something in her voice, her face, a promise that Victoria doesn’t need to do this alone...

She remembers a time when she wasn’t alone. When it was her and another soul, a boy bound as much by the chains of his parents as herself, working together to break free. Before Rachel ruined everything. Before Arcadia fell, and he vanished into that night with so many others.

She gulps at the memory of the last time she saw him, angry and hiding something. She’s tired of hiding so much from everyone. Even in that final day when she’d thrown curses left and right, gained the power she always wanted, torn Rachel down from her throne, she was doing it in secret.

It’s too appealing. It has to be a trap. But she’s already a failure. Already under control. Fuck it.

“Fine,” Victoria hisses at last. “But be quiet. Follow me.”

She pads through the house in bare feet and runs out into the gardens, Maxine following her at every step. She’s most careful around the guard postings that watch for irregularities in the wards, and together they find their way to the center of one of the outermost hedge circles, just at the corner of the barriers. Victoria forces her way through one hedge and ends up in the space between two walls, Maxine by her side. This isn’t a real part of the maze, it’s not a real garden. Her arms are covered in scratches under the glamour, but it’ll be worth it to have this here, her little release, her secret. Their secret.

No. This is still Victoria’s, and it was a mistake bringing Maxine here. She knows this as soon as they’ve drawn back the earth with their bare hands and put the wilting flowers in. Because she knows what she has to do to keep them alive. What they feed on, outside of the Wilds.

“You should go,” she murmurs as she slips the knife out of her sleeve.

“What—why?” Maxine whispers.

“It’s—thank you. But we’re not friends. We can’t be friends. He’ll use us against each other.”

Maxine wrinkles her nose up. “No. I don’t believe that. Come on. Let’s stay out here a while, okay? Away from everyone else. Just us.”

Victoria sighs. She’s not going to get it until she sees it, is she. Why she should stay away from Victoria. Why Victoria is disgusting and terrible and useless.

“Do you know why they’re called vampire blooms?” Victoria asks as she raises the knife to her wrist. Maxine’s eyes widen. “They grow in the Wilds, where pure human blood’s been shed. Then they suck out the corruption nearby, purify it, feed on it. Without that corruption, inside warded walls, they need to be fed nightly, or they’ll die.”

“Victoria, what are you—”

One quick slash across the wrist. To match the dozens of identical hidden lines there. Maxine gasps as Victoria squeezes her fist, dripping blood onto the petals, watching them unfurl and stand straight as their roots suddenly surge with red, reaching into the earth. Victoria breathes easy, the pain bringing what it always does. Grounding. Even with Maxine here watching, this still feels real. Like what she deserves, what she needs to do.

“Victoria!” Maxine cries as the last flower grows, reaching out and taking her wrist in both hands.

“Wait,” Victoria groans, wrenching her wrist out of Maxine’s grip and lowering it to the stem of a flower. The vampire bloom suddenly curls around her arm, petals spreading out over the wound. Victoria closes her eyes and sighs with relief as she feels it sucking out the last of the blood, closing up the wound. The flower swells, all of them swell, in fact, gorging themselves, connecting their roots beneath the earth to feed off of her once again. She delicately raises her arm, and the bloom disconnects, raising its face to the moonlight as Victoria sits back and breathes.

Maxine stares at her, green eyes blown wide in the darkness, shining. “Victoria...” she whispers, fear in her shaking fingers as she reaches for Victoria’s hand. “Why would you...”

She can’t tell Maxine the whole truth. She’s not even sure she understands it herself, why the pain and the blood bring her some measure of calm. Why making something grow matters. But...she’s been hiding everything for so long.

“I wasn’t lying when I said they’re useful,” Victoria begins, brushing her fingers over the little flowerbed. “When...after the wards fell, these grew everywhere in Arcadia. This druid, he told us you can make a tea from them. If you drink it, it’s like having a weak charm on you for a day or so. The monsters will still attack you, but the corruption won’t seep into you. Won’t...change you. We gathered as many as we could before we left.”

“Sometimes I still make it,” Victoria admits, looking over to Maxine. “Just to make sure.” _Because I was already a monster. And maybe this can fix that, somehow._ But she can’t tell Maxine about the curses she cast so angrily, so righteously. She’s never told anyone, not since she got a scar for doing so. Not since...

She didn’t kill Arcadia. She couldn’t have. She didn’t cast any such spell, but...but Rachel might have. The scream the sorcerers heard, they said it sounded like a woman. And Victoria broke down Rachel’s plans.

Maxine shifts forward, her hand still lightly covering Victoria’s. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, unable to meet Victoria’s eyes.

It’s strange, how nobody’s said that yet. Nobody’s offered her any comfort since she returned home. It’s strange that it means something.

“Thanks, Maxine,” Victoria says quietly, falling flat on her back. The stars are beautiful tonight.

“It’s just Max,” she replies softly.

“Huh?”

“My name. I...I prefer Max.”

“Okay, Max.”

After a while, Max joins her on the ground, staring up into the night.

“Why do you hate me?” Max asks quietly.

“I don’t hate you.”

“You did at first.”

“I don’t know if I did. I hated the idea of you. Once you got here...” Victoria shrugs. “He’s as shitty to you as he is to everyone. It’s just the way he is, I guess. I was sure you were going to be better than me. Maybe you’re just luckier.” She shifts onto her side. “What’d he take from you?”

“I...” Max bites her lip. “It’s nothing. It’s dumb.”

“Max, I just showed you my literal bloodiest fucking secret, you owe me.”

Max stifles a giggle, then frowns. “I—I don’t know if I should tell you.”

“Yes you should. You owe me, I said.”

Max sucks in air through her teeth, worrying her lip further. “I...Okay. Since you asked.” She sits up, crossing her legs and staring down at the vampire blooms. “It was...this stupid little stuffed owlbear. I’ve had it for a long time, since I...since I was growing up in Arcadia. My best friend from there won it for me at a fair.” She sniffs. “He called it childish. Holding onto it like the way I hold onto my freckles.”

“Asshole,” Victoria spits.

“Yeah.”

Max picks at the dirt on her feet, looking pensive. “Are we...are we okay, Victoria? I don’t want to be enemies anymore. It’s hard enough having Victor on me without—”

“I’m already sick of it too, Max,” Victoria interrupts, sitting up beside her and sticking out a hand. “Truce?”

“Yeah. Truce,” Max says with a smile, shaking once.

“Not that you were the one fighting,” Victoria notes, looking away. “Sorry I’m such a bitch.”

“It’s all right.”

They look at each other for a moment, fingers crusted with dirt, feet muddy, hair messy. Victoria looks away first.

“We should get inside. He’ll wake us up early tomorrow,” she murmurs.

Max nods. “If you’re sure. I could stay out longer, but...”

Victoria could too. She feels like she’d rather hide in this secret spot until she starved than return to that house. But she can’t, she can’t do that. Someday she has to be someone or all of this was pointless.

She gets up without another word and lets Max follow her back into the house. Just as she’s wrapping her fingers around her doorknob, she hears Max whisper, “Goodnight, Victoria.”

“Goodnight, Max.”


	5. Show Me What You Know

Well, that went a lot better.

Max lets out a sigh of relief as she flops down into bed, no doubt getting bits of mud all over it but who cares, really? Certainly not Max. Max doesn’t care about Victor or her lost toy or anything unpleasant right now. It feels like a weight off her shoulders, knowing Victoria doesn’t hate her, even if there’s a lot of darkness hiding inside that girl.

At that thought, Max turns over, brain switching focus. She wonders if Victoria’s really...if she’s okay. The vampire blooms are beautiful, and it obviously gives her some comfort to feed them, but Max still shudders at the memory of that slit across Victoria’s wrist, vanishing under the glamour as soon as it healed. The blood dripping from her body.

She wonders if she’ll be welcome, the next time Victoria goes out to tend their secret garden. It could be nice to join her in her nightly ritual. Nice to make sure she never cuts too deep, never hurts herself too much. To keep watch. And to have some time away from parents and expectations and magic, just her and a friend under the stars. Like old times, sneaking off into the night and getting in trouble with Chloe.

She sighs at the thought of Chloe, at the question she still wants to ask Victoria. But maybe later. When she knows they’re on solid ground.

Just as she’s about to fall asleep with that plan in her head, she remembers. Quickly, she clasps her hands together and prays. _Fate, please take my aura from me. In return, I wish only to see that symbol again from my vision, clear and present, so that I can remember your power when dawn comes._

That sounds pretty good. Hopefully it’ll work.

 

* * *

 

 

She wakes with the symbol burning into her mind, like she can see it floating in front of her, blue and glowing like in the vision. She grabs the journal Victor gave her yesterday and wets the quill, and it’s like the goddess herself is guiding her hand as she sketches. When she’s finished, it looks oddly familiar, like she’s seen pieces of it before. Especially one of the spurs of the compass rose — and then it hits her. Chloe’s father had that rune on his neck, the marking that told everyone he was gifted with the power to control water. Then are all of these...are these the focus-signs? The ones that appear on sorcerer’s skin at puberty to show that the wisps of the Old Gods favor them?

She needs to ask Victor, right away. This has to mean something, and, well, he’s smarter than her, as much as she’s loathe to admit it. And she wants to know, more than anything, if that destruction she saw in her dreams is going to be real.

But she does have to be dressed first, and bathed, so with a certain level of distaste for herself she gets out of bed and heads into the bathroom. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and—

That’s not her.

She does a double-take, running up to the mirror, running her hands across her skin. It’s perfect. In the mirror, anyway, no sign of any childhood scars or laugh lines or wrinkles of any kind or _freckles._ Something’s softened her face, too, something’s made her nose a little bit smaller, made her lips a little bit fuller. She opens her mouth, closes it again, fingers still pressing into her face because it’s _not right._ This isn’t her. She wants to start scratching, like it’ll tear away the glamour, but she saw what happened when Victoria did that last night.

She knows who did this. While she slept. Her nails dig into her palms as she stares hatefully at the lie in the mirror.

She won’t give him the satisfaction, she decides that right away. Won’t beg him to reverse it, to let her be who she wants to be. She’ll find her own way to fix it. She’ll prove to him that she won’t be controlled, that she has not only the gift he has but the _will_ to be as arrogant and selfish as he is. If he wants to make this difficult, if he wants her to struggle, she’ll do it in silence. She’s here to learn. She’s not here to be bullied.

With that in mind, she draws her own bath, calls the tailor and actually talks this time, about what she wants to wear, how she wants to actually be able to move and work. She ends up with a simple brown ‘druid-style’ dress (according to the tailor) and a promise that she’ll have a suit like those in Victor’s wardrobe by the end of the month, and that’s enough to satisfy her for now. She marches to Victor’s office herself, journal tucked under her arm, and enters without knocking.

“Maxine,” Victor says, looking up from a page he’d been writing on. “It’s polite to—”

Max sits down and puts her journal on top of his work, opened to the page with her sketch on it. Victor suppresses a twitch in his eyebrow, but he’s apparently ready to play the silent struggle too.

“I see.” He traces the lines with his finger, and slowly his face seems to open up. “Ah.” He’s clearly trying to reign in some reaction, which puts a bit of a smirk on Max’s face. “Well. This is very interesting.” He stands up, clasping his hands behind his back and facing away from Max. Max can see the nervous tremors in his fingers. “Very interesting,” he repeats softly.

“Why?” Max asks, finally.

“For months, every Oracle in the Warded Witchdom has been getting inklings of the same thing. Not constantly, not the only visions or omens we’re experiencing, not the only communication from Fate. But we’ve all noticed it.” Victor turns back to face her. “Whispers of some new god. We think. Fate’s also called them, ‘the Progenitor,’ or ‘our family,’ or ‘the parents of us all,’ but we _think_ it’s a single entity. I, myself, have heard the most direct reference in my dreams. I clarified it night after night, and I got this.”

He reaches into his desk and pulls out his own dream journal, flipping to a page near the back. He holds it open for Max, and she reads:

_The prophet of a new god, forged from the remains of the oldest of us all, wanders the Wilds alone and unaware._

“That’s all,” Victor says after Max gives him a nod. “All she’s sent me. But as soon as you arrived here, I think you saw it. The prophet. And this...this explains so much,” he adds, tapping Max’s drawing. “This is it. All four names of the Old Ones, the elemental titans that warred against each other, killing themselves with their hatred until they collapsed onto the earth and created the Wilds. Somehow, what remains of their spirits — what used to grant sorcerers their elemental powers — has come together to form the new god. I _think_ ,” he adds, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “You. You must have a connection to this prophet, or you wouldn’t be getting these visions so quickly, so easily. Fate works best when the strings are already tied. Oracles know the paths of those around them, those tied to them by blood or friendship, most clearly, with the least work.”

Victor puts his palms on the table, staring at Max with a kind of hunger in his eyes. “We have to train you as quickly as possible,” he says breathlessly. “Ever since Arcadia fell, the Oracles have been restless about this new god, and the shapers have gotten very little trying to communicate with them. Maxine, you’re our best lead on the newest magical mystery in all the world.”

 _Well then maybe you should treat me better,_ Max wants to say, but she bites her tongue. He’s in a good mood right now. No need to spoil it. And...well, this _is_ exciting. At least Victor can get genuinely interested and passionate about his work.

So her, “Let’s get started then,” probably doesn’t sound too enthusiastic, but she’s keeping herself cool. Maybe she can use this to her advantage, somehow.

Victor pulls back from the desk for a moment, studying his watch. “First we have to get the estate taken care of. Find Victoria and bring her out to the altar.”

Max nods and leaves his office, trying to control her jitters of excitement right up until the moment that she’s face-to-face with Victoria and she remembers what she looks like, because Victoria takes a full second to recognize her. When she does, her face scrunches up.

“What—”

“He did it while I was sleeping,” Max sighs, running a hand down her face.

“Ass _hole_ ,” Victoria opines, putting her hands on her hips.

“You know how to undo it, right?” Max asks, suddenly realizing the resource she has at her disposal. A Blackwell witch is a Blackwell witch, whether the school is gone or not.

Victoria looks her up and down. “Dispelling it shouldn’t be too tough. And it’ll piss him off. Tonight, where we planted the blooms. Deal?”

Max nods. “And Victor wants you out in the gardens for your ‘test’ or whatever.”

“Fine.” Victoria darts back into her room and comes out with a sack of what Max assumes are components slung over her shoulder. “Gods, he’s stupid. Like I don’t know these spells by heart.”

“Well, I don’t, so I’ll watch, okay?”

Victoria stiffens a bit, but then she bites something back in her throat. Max gives her a quizzical look and Victoria just shrugs. “Yeah, that works. You’ll need to know this shit anyway, and it’s...it’s what I’m good at.”

“Then let’s get this over with.”

Victoria gives her a businesslike nod, and the two of them head out to the altar (Victoria ends up leading the way due to Max’s almost-impressive ability to get lost). Victor stands in front of the altar, cane in front of him, both hands on its head. Putting on a show of waiting.

He takes out a spellbook from his jacket and offers it to Victoria, who gives him nothing but a cold stare in response, a dismissive wave of the hand. Victor frowns, and the two stare at each other until Victoria says, “Can I have the altar or are you going to stand in the way the entire time?”

“You should watch your tone,” Victor seethes, but he steps back regardless and Victoria dumps the sack at her feet, drawing out a piece of white chalk and pulling back the cloth. And then...

Max finds herself entranced by Victoria’s knowledge, the ease with which she prepares her rituals. She moves like water, her circles perfect, her runes clear and straight, her offerings placed perfectly and artfully. She speaks like Fate herself as she recites incantations without a single look at any spellbook, any reference at all, closing her eyes and sounding so assured. And the spells are spectacular. When she reinforces the wards, they flare up in glittering glory above Max’s head, showering sparks down on them. When she asks for rain, clouds swirl in the sky in the shape of a promise written in the divine tongue; Victoria says that the rain will fall between midnight and dawn. When she asks that the crops in the gardens grow healthy and strong, a surge of lightning crawls out of the altar and into the earth itself, sending tingles up from Max’s toes.

Victoria looks over her shoulder when she’s finished her last spell, and their eyes meet. Max remembers to blink as she feels a hot blush in her face. Victoria really is incredible. A Blackwell witch indeed. How can her parents not see it?

Although, looking at Victor now, maybe he _does_ see it. His grip on his cane looks unsteady, soft, and there’s a strange look in his eye.

“Well done, Victoria,” he says quietly as Victoria lowers her hands to her sides and stares him right in the face. “That was...you are not as out-of-practice as I’d feared.”

“I performed perfectly,” Victoria states.

“Yes. You did.” It looks like it’s almost painful for Victor to admit that. Max wonders if even he can perform these rituals so perfectly, with such flair. Max wonders what it is that makes Victoria’s work so...well, it’s obviously unusual. The wards certainly didn’t do that yesterday when Victor worked on them. Perhaps this is the humility of witches that she’s heard of, that Victor can’t quite match, though it’s hard to imagine Victoria being humble.

Victor clears his throat. “Well. Thank you, Victoria. You may return to your own studies now; you’ve demonstrated technique well for Maxine. She and I must continue to hone her vision. I think it might be urgent.”

“Right.” Victoria sounds like she’s biting the word, but the glance she gives Max as she leaves the garden seems at least somewhat friendly. Or perhaps conspiratorial.

Victor steps forward and looks down at Max. “While honing your vision is important, it’s clear to me that we need to practice some basic spellwork before we can really get you in the clarification loop. Let’s start with a few simple facts...”

 

* * *

 

By the time Max is heading back to her room from dinner, her head’s swimming. Victor certainly has his share of knowledge; she’s trying to keep everything from today straight in her head, from the perfect way to draw a ritual circle (so much chalk was wasted this day) to the rules of runes (“True human comprehension of the divine language is impossible; you cannot hope to create a new sentence from the runes of a ritual even if you have an exact translation from the shaper who made it, because it shifts and changes outside of our perception constantly...”) to the correct way to move ‘ritualistically’ (which she’s still not sure she quite gets, other than knowing that Victoria did it really well.) She’s filled so much of her journal with notes on the history of various objects and their uses in spells (gems mainly, but certain plants and bones as well), so many drawings of old spells and their original forms before the incantations took on enough significance to not require offerings anymore, just _so much._ She’s ready to just flop into bed.

Until she walks by her bathroom and spots the girl in the mirror again. She remembers the promised meeting with Victoria and isn’t sure whether to grimace or smile, because while she hates what Victor’s done, the idea of continuing her little conspiracy with Victoria sounds like a strange sort of dangerous fun, which she decides she needs desperately after spending the whole day listening to Victor’s drone.

She slips off her shoes and pads over to Victoria’s room, giving her door a soft tap with her fingernails. Victoria opens the door, spots Max, puts a finger to her lips, then darts back into her room for a second, wrapping a satchel around her shoulders. She steals out the door before Max is even sure what’s happening, and she has to very carefully run-tiptoe to catch up as Victoria swoops through the manor like a ghost, like she’s got practice at this. Max reaches for her hand as they head out into the gardens — it’s too dark under the clouds to lose Victoria and Max knows herself well enough to know that she’ll never find that spot again without her.

Victoria stops in place for a moment, but then continues on, shifting her hand so she’s the one grabbing Max instead, holding on tight. They force their way between the hedges again after a little guard-dodging, and there Victoria lets her go and they face each other, breath heavy in the cold night air.

Victoria takes in a swallow of air, then reaches into her satchel and pulls out a tiny little sapphire. With a quick word, it flares into blue light beneath her face, and she sets it between them as they sit across from each other, the vampire blooms glowing eerily in its light.

“Okay,” Victoria begins, reaching back into her satchel. “So, sometimes to dispel curses or enchantments you need some expensive shit — bezoars, silver bars, stuff like that. But for something simple like glamour, all you need...” She pulls out a single round black ball. “Is coal.”

Max nods eagerly. “So you’re gonna do it?”

“He doesn’t win this time,” Victoria says fiercely. “But you’re going to do it. Here.” She presses the lump into Max’s hand. “Repeat the incantation after me while pressing the coal into your heart.”

Victoria’s voice is smooth as silk, so much so that Max has trouble actually replicating the strange tumble of consonants from her mouth the first time. Victoria sighs, but she seems more patient than her father when she repeats it, more slowly and carefully. As Max’s lips form the last syllable, she feels the coal harden and grow in her hand, and she almost drops it as Victoria steadies her hand.

“Look,” Victoria whispers, uncurling her fingers. In Max’s hand is a small, rough ruby.

“So it’s gone?” Max asks, running her free hand over her cheek. Victoria looks up.

A silence passes between them, something odd in Victoria’s expression, the way her eyes travel down Max’s face. They’re both looking at each other too long, Max’s own mind wandering to how much Victoria’s glamour is actually a reflection of what she looks like under it, how much it changes. She has to have one, right? Victor said...

Victoria clears her throat. “Yeah, it’s gone. You’re you again.”

Max leans forward and hugs Victoria, to her apparent shock. She’s stiff, awkward in Max’s arms, but Max can’t help it, it feels so _good._ To win. To have someone to fight with.

“Thank you so much, Victoria,” Max sighs, letting her shoulders slump as she pulls away. “Gods, it felt weird. Not seeing my own face when I looked in the mirror.”

“Y-yeah.” Victoria looks to the blooms. “I should feed them.”

“Okay. Can I stay?”

“If you want to.”

Max winces when she slashes open her wrist again. She watches as the flowers feed on her, biting her lip.

“...Does it hurt?” she asks, nervously rubbing two fingers together.

“It does.” Victoria’s words are quiet in the dim light of the gem. “It’s—it’s fine, though.”

“You never...you’re never gonna cut too deep, are you?”

“No. I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay.”

Victoria looks over to her as she lifts her arm out of the stem’s grasp. “I’ve been doing this for months. It’s fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Victoria’s voice cracks a little, and Max wants to push further. She knows Victoria’s lying, but if she says that...she’ll sound just like Victor. No. Victoria will talk if she wants to talk. Max won’t force her.

So it’s another silence as Victoria shuffles over to Max, shifting onto her back to look at the dark sky, like last night. No stars this time, so Max stays staring at her feet, wondering what to say. If she should say anything at all.

Finally, she settles on, “I think you’re a great witch, Victoria.”

“Well, they don’t think so. And that’s what matters around here,” Victoria mutters, closing her eyes.

“I think they’re wrong about a lot of things.”

“Well, then you’re smarter than most of the Witchdom.”

Max smiles at that, flushing a bit. She looks over to Victoria as she hears a thunderclap overhead. In a flash of lightning, she sees something on Victoria’s face.

“Hey,” she says softly, reaching out to touch the darkened mark. “You’ve got—”

Victoria freezes when Max’s finger touches the spot. Wrinkled, worn skin. Burned skin. A scar.

Victoria shoots up, covering the mark with her palm. “Fuck,” she hisses, “Should’ve fucking known, magic storm overhead and I go out into the gardens, stupid, _stupid,_ ” and she starts pushing her way back through the hedge.

“Wait!” Max cries, trying to follow her, but she’s really running, just far enough ahead that Max is afraid she’ll lose her in the maze as the rain starts spattering on her skin. The two of them manage to get under the protection of the roof as they reach the porch, Victoria shivering as she throws the door open and tracks water through the halls. Max follows her, right on her heels, so that when she tries to close the door in Max’s face she finds that she’s already in the room.

“Just go away, Max,” Victoria hisses, still covering the mark, staring angrily down at her feet. “Just—”

“Victoria, it’s okay—”

“Some great fucking witch I am, can’t even cast a glamour that’ll hold out in the Nexus Gardens—”

“Victoria,” Max murmurs softly, taking her wrist gently. “It’s all right.” She kicks the door closed behind her, so that the two of them are left in almost total darkness, away from the everburning torches. “You’ve seen me without a glamour, right?”

Victoria shudders as Max pulls her hand down. Beneath her glamour, she’s much the same, only...not. The scar, obviously, but her cheekbones are less severe, her jaw less sharp. She looks softer. More human. Dripping wet, too, and shaking, and yet...

“You’re still pretty,” Max assures her. “Under the magic.”

Victoria takes in a heavy breath. She looks up and meets Max’s eyes, biting her lip. She mumbles something that Max can’t quite make out.

“What?”

“I said you are, too,” Victoria rushes out, turning away. “T-thanks, Max, but...” She wipes at her face. “I—I still want to be alone right now. I need to—I need to fix it.”

“Okay. The gardens are all wet right now, anyway,” Max says, trying to force a smile. “Victoria, if you need to talk—”

“I’m _fine._ ”

“Okay.”

Silence as Victoria’s shoulders rise and fall. Max knows it’s time to leave. She should leave. She rubs her arm, thinking, not thinking, something. Victoria needs...she needs something. Max isn’t sure what, but she wants to help.

“Please, Max. Just go.”

Max gulps and turns to the door. “Goodnight, Victoria,” she whispers as she leaves.

She doesn’t hear anything back.


	6. Iron In My Spine

Victoria digs her nails into her palms, staring out her window at the rainstorm she summoned. Max’s fingers ghost across her skin in memory, sending tingles down her spine. She knows precisely what she’s feeling as she stands here, as Max whispers a “goodnight” and leaves. She’s not stupid. She’s felt this before and it’s the same fucking situation now, of course it is.

As her door closes and leaves her in darkness, Victoria approaches the mirror on the wall, staring at the scar on her face. _You’re still pretty._ Another voice echoes in her head, _You’re so pretty._ Why did Victoria think this would be any different? Why did you think Max actually _liked_ you? Could ever like you? You’re just the way you always are to people like her. They’re special. You’re not. All you’ll ever be to them is a pawn, a tool, something in their arsenal.

Max is just _using_ Victoria. That has to be it. Max doesn’t know shit-all about magic, so she’s making Victoria feel this way so she’ll dance to her tune, give her her knowledge, just like Rachel did. _Idiot._ All this rebellion against Victor, it’s a show. A trick.

And even if it isn’t, Victoria’s still just someone for Max to use as a weapon, a pawn in the power struggle. That’s what Max is using her for, after all, teaching her that dispel just so Victor knows that Max is going to have her own way. If Max doesn’t have her, she’s subordinate to Victor, but with Victoria on Max’s side she’ll be able to gain knowledge without him, learn part of his trade without his instruction. She’ll have power.

She’s so sick of being played. Being under other people’s control. Wanting things she can’t have.

She could destroy them both. The power rests in her soul, in her mind, in the chalk and supplies spread throughout the house. The curses she’s cast are still burned into her memory. What would it be like, to watch the teeth fall out of Max’s beautiful freckled face? To see the sores burst through Victor’s glamour as he chokes on pus?

She feels nausea crawl up through her body, stomach squirming at her own thoughts. She tears her gaze away from herself. No. No, you fucking monster, why would you even think of doing that? Don’t you remember what happened last time?

She remembers the sores on David’s back as he held a wall of wind against the Wilds itself. The grimace of pain on his face. The worried questions when there was a moment of calm, _Have you seen her? Have you seen Chloe?_ She had no answers. Has no answers. The scar on her cheek is something she deserved, for everything. Everything she did to pretend she could be someone better, someone with power. The minute she exercised it, everything died around her and she was left as alone as she ever was. More alone. It had to be her fault. Something she did to screw up the plans of the powerful.

With a heavy sigh and a head full of frustration, she slips under her covers, still wet from the rain, not caring how it soaks through to her bones. There’s nothing she can do. She’s trapped. She’s always been trapped. By her worthlessness, her total mediocrity. By her own stupid desires. Max knows what she’s doing, just like Rachel did. And now Max knows more than even Victor does. Victoria swallows and crushes the idiotic little spark of hope that’s dwelling within her. She’s a fucking diviner. She probably already saw the future where you’re groveling at her feet.

Victoria will not let that happen again. But she doesn’t know how to stop it.

 

* * *

 

She wakes up the next day to Victor’s voice.

He’s yelling. She hasn’t heard that in some time. She gets up slowly and presses her ear to her door.

“I can’t _believe_ your stubborness! Maxine, if you don’t obey a simple instruction, how can I expect you to learn—”

“I _am_ learning.” Max’s voice is shaking but defiant. Victoria can picture her now, under Victor’s shadow in her doorway, little fists clenched at her sides. She shouldn’t smile at the image. “I learned how to dispel magic, didn’t I? Seems like a valuable skill.”

“That is _not_ the point!” Victor says, exasperation in his raised voice. “Maxine, you are going to be entering into a world where the slightest action is judged, where every aspect of yourself and your work are to be scrutinized by the most important people in the world. They do not take us on faith, not ever. We must show the right appearance, the right knowledge, the correct etiquette, or they will not trust our information and the Witchdom will fall.”

Victoria’s heard versions of this speech before. Any time she asked her father to give her a break, to let her rest, this was brought out. The high stakes of the upper classes.

“We’re alone here!” Max argues back. “You’re the only one asking me to do this, you’re the only one judging me!”

“Not for long. The Druidic Delegation is due to arrive in only a few weeks, and they’ll be looking at everything on this estate closely. Ever since the Magister gave the nexus to me, they’ve been breathing down my neck, still upset I tore down their primitive circle of protection. They’re certain I’m going to let it get corrupted, so upset over my ‘lack of respect for tradition,’ my commitment to a new path forward for magic. I cannot have a clearly untrained and unprepared apprentice—”

“Do druids use glamour?”

It’s a simple question, but it stops Victor dead in his tracks. And Victoria knows the answer, and she wonders if Max actually looked this up at some point.

“...no,” Victor replies slowly. “They claim it’s a waste of the gods’ gifts to use them every day, that it devalues them. They’re savages.”

“So wouldn’t it be better for your reputation with them if you did keep on someone who seemed closer to their opinion on the subject?” Max’s voice has an edge of desperation in it, like she just wants this fight to be over with. But the thing is, Max is absolutely right. And Victor must know that because Victoria swears she can hear him sucking in air through his nose.

“I see. Perhaps you’re right, in this instance. But if another party from Citadel comes through my estate — such as my wife’s, or the Magister’s, or the Primal Commander, you _will_ appear presentable. Am I clear?”

“Yes, fine. As long as I don’t have to always have it.”

“You would find the practice and the power it gives you valuable.”

“I can practice other ways.”

“True enough.” Victor pauses. “You show quite a lot of will, Miss Caulfield. I hope you find a proper application for it soon instead of this pointless arguing. Come along. I’ll need to teach you a few more ways to augment your abilities.”

Max does know what she’s doing. She has to. She wouldn’t touch Victoria like that, talk to her like that, if she didn’t. Victoria puts her back against the door. It’s all just confirmation. Max will throw Victoria away as soon as she’s done here, as soon as she’s ready for the larger world. The same way Maribeth left Victoria behind as soon as she could, as soon as the estate’s construction was finished. Happy to leave Victoria here and rule half of Citadel with her influence instead of raising her own daughter.

Victoria’s not feeling that way again. Not wanting something she’s never going to have. She’s _not._ Now that she knows what Max is doing, she can resist it. Even if that didn’t work last time, this time it has to.

 

* * *

 

Max knocks at the door. Victoria doesn’t answer.

“Victoria?”

Victoria doesn’t answer.

She hears the doorknob turning and curls up on her side, facing away. Get out. Go away.

“Oh, you are here.”

Victoria shuts her eyes. Her face is stone. Her heart is stone. Not this time. No more of the god-touched elite of the world will make her their slave. She will do everything on her own. It’s the only way.

“Are you okay?” Max asks softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “At dinner, you seemed—”

“Go the fuck away.”

Victora can feel Max flinch. There’s a pregnant silence while she fidgets.

“...what did I do?”

“Like you don’t know. Fuck off, Max.”

“Victoria, I really don’t, please, talk to me—”

“I won’t be your little study buddy. I’m not gonna cast all your spells for you. You’re paying him. He’s your fucking teacher. You figure it out.”

Max’s hand on her shoulder through the covers. “Is...is that really what you think I was doing?”

“You asked me to dispel it. Why else would you even fucking bother with me?”

“I thought...” Max swallows. “I thought you liked it. Letting us win. Not him.”

“Helping _you_ win.”

“I didn’t...” Max sighs, her words failing her. “I just wanted us to work together. Not be alone, like I said. If—if I did something wrong...”

“Stop it,” Victoria says through grit teeth, sitting up and glaring at her. “Stop fucking lying to me.”

“Wh—”

“You want me to be your little slave, just like him, you’re all the same, you don’t know what it’s like to really have to work to be great, you’re just fucking _born_ with it—”

Max makes this...sound. This little whimper, and then her face is in her hands, and Victoria’s the asshole.

“I’m sorry,” Max squeaks, “I don’t, I’m not, I j-just wanted to be friends, whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

Victoria won’t fall for this. She won’t and she’s not and nothing hurts.

“You just had to wait until my glamour fell, right?” Victoria spits. “So now you think you’ve got something on me—”

“No!” Max exclaims. “No, no, I would never tell anyone, not if you didn’t want me to, I’d never hurt you like that, I can tell it—it bothers you...” Her voice fades out as Victoria stares her down.

And the raging fire inside of Victoria starts to die down. Looking at her, sniffling in the thin moonlight, Victoria’s starting to believe the story again. That Max is just lonely and struggling and trying to find herself in a world she never asked to be a part of, born with something she never requested.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Max mumbles, shifting her feet off the bed and dangling them over the side. “If that’s what you want.”

Victoria’s mouth is dry. That feeling’s welling up inside her again and she hates it and she wants to squash it back down because last time it just made everything hurt a thousand times more. She needs clarity. She needs to understand what she believes, needs to find just a moment to calm these old memories and these new worries and this tiny fleck of hope that maybe, just maybe, her company alone is worth something.

Max stands up. Victoria gets up and grabs her knife as Max shuffles towards the door, reluctant to leave.

“Come on,” she grunts, stepping out in front of Max and marching forward like she expects to be obeyed. And judging by those soft footsteps behind her as she heads out to the garden, she is. She steps through the hedge and kneels down next to the blooms, feeling Max’s confused eyes on her, feeling her anticipation, her worry, her fear. All directed at her. Because she’s a potential puppet, or because she’s a friend? 

As she slashes her wrist open, she watches Max’s little involuntary flinch. With the pain clearing her mind of everything but that flinch, she can believe. Max cares, even if Victoria’s nowhere close to dying. She cares when Victoria is hurt. Did Rachel care? It was so hard to tell. It started as blackmail. This started as right as anything can start with Victoria fucking Chase involved in it.

As a flower sucks the last of the blood from the wound, Victoria sits in the grass and closes her eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave me alone,” she admits at last as Max takes a place beside her.

“W-what _do_ you want, then?” 

“I don’t know.” Victoria might be lying. She’s not sure. She has an idea of what she wants, but she’s never experienced it. Not in the right way. “I’m sick of being pissed off, though.”

“I like you not-pissed-off, too. It’s a little less scary.”

Victoria softly chuckles. _She’s cute_. It’s weird to think that, so directly. Without a hundred barbed thoughts hooked into her brain and pulling it apart into paranoia and hatred and jealousy.

“Do you...do you think you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Y-your scar. How you got it. Is it from...when Arcadia fell?”

Victoria stiffens. She can’t tell her. Not everything. Because Max might still be lying, might still be tricking Victoria even if it’s getting harder to really believe that by the second. But she does want to talk. She’s wanted to talk for a really long time, but there was no one to talk to.

“No. Happened before. Just, like, thirty seconds before, actually.”

“...how?”

“I did a lot of bad things at Blackwell, Max. I’m not a good person. Someone figured it out, and she punished me for it just before everything went to hell. I deserved it.” Victoria feels a lump rising in her throat, feels the iron she’d poured into her spine over these months crack and rust. Threatening to break. All her walls want to crumble before Max, but...not before she’s sure. More time.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Max whispers. “You—you’ve obviously been through a lot. And based on how Victor talks to me, how your mom talked to you...” She rubs her arm. “I don’t think anyone’s tried to help you through it. You’ve been on your own. I don’t want to...” She chokes something back. “I don’t want to leave someone like that.” There’s something after that, something that Victoria could swear is a _not again,_ but it’s so quiet that she can’t be sure. “Not when I can help.”

“You think you can?” Victoria asks. Because, can she? Can anyone handle the mess that is Victoria Chase?

“It’s worth a shot,” Max offers, her smile shaking in her voice. “If you ever want to talk, you can talk to me. I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Okay.” Victoria breathes out a long sigh. “Okay.”

“And i-if I ever ask you for something that’s uncomfortable, like, help with spells or something, you can just say no. It’s okay.”

Something stings at Victoria’s eyes when she’s given the right to say no.

“All right?” Max asks, her fingers lightly grazing the back of Victoria’s hand. “Are we okay again? Can we not fight anymore?”

“No promises. I might get another stupid fucking idea about what you are,” Victoria admits.

“Well, can we try?”

“Yeah. We can try.”

Max’s hand grows a little more sure, and wraps around Victoria’s own. “Can I hug you?”

Victoria’s cheeks flush. Thank the gods for glamour and nighttime. She just nods, and when Max’s arms are around her, she feels the weight of Blackwell lift, just slightly. She can forget Rachel Amber, and Chloe Price, and David Madsen. She can forget Nathan Prescott.

In Max’s arms, she feels, just for a moment, like she might be safe at last.


	7. Pandora

Max returns from the garden that night tingling from head to toe.

As she slides under her covers and nuzzles them up beneath her chin, she sighs happily. Which seems weird, even to herself, but she is happy. Despite how charged this night has been, with so much pain coming up from beneath Victoria’s surface and threatening to destroy any chance of peace between them, it feels good to know her. To be maintaining that peace in spite of any forces that might be trying to tear it apart. To have someone in her corner in this unwelcoming and stifling place.

She hopes Victoria feels this way too. She’s been alone here so much longer than Max has. She has so much trouble trusting people. Max wants to bring her a little bit of relief from that, wants this to go both ways. She doesn’t want to be...using Victoria, like she’s afraid of. And she won’t. No matter what privileged position Max might hold here, it does not give her the right to anything from Victoria. This will be fair, to both of them.

But the best thing is that Victoria talked. About Blackwell. Even if it was vague, even if it was obviously hard, she talked, and that has to be good for her. And...

No, Max, stop it. You don’t have the right to demand anything from Victoria, remember? Especially nothing so painful as that. She might not have even met Chloe, and even if she did, bringing up specific people she might have seen...might have watched...

Chloe could be dead. Max needs to stop hiding from that. And if she’s not, Max might never know what happened anyway. Sometimes life is hard and cruel and you _know_ that, stop wishing it wasn’t. Make do with what you have now instead of getting lost in the clouds.

She tries to think of lighter things as she turns over in bed. Tries to recapture that feeling when she was holding Victoria, feeling her finally let her guard down. Seeing the girl beneath the pain.

But Max still wants to know more. Even if that’s a terrible thing to want. The words _I did a lot of bad things at Blackwell, Max,_ echo through her head until it empties out entirely.

 

* * *

 

Her vision returns that night, but the prophet is no longer in a swirl of destruction and chaos. She — it’s definitely a she — stands directly in front of the line of the wards. Long, impossibly blue hair shrouds her face, trails down a body that’s covered by a torn brown robe. The symbol on her right arm weeps blood onto the ground, where vampire blooms unfurl and catch it in their petals.  

Max is so close she can hear the prophet’s ragged breath. She sounds wet, like water’s coming up the back of her throat. Some blue light shines from beneath her hair, from a central point around her neck, and just for a moment the hair parts and Max sees a simple stone charm with a cross etched into it.

Again Fate whispers in her mind, _she is coming here, she is coming back,_ and the prophet starts to part the veil of her hair, and then Max finds herself awake and staring at her ceiling.

Her body trembles as she sits up, biting her knuckles. Fate wants more from her, and she’s taunting Max. That’s the only explanation. She’s playing her little games, like Victor says. Max is starting to understand why Victor always has that strange undertone in his voice when he talks about Fate and her relationship to the Oracles. Because this? This vague crap Fate’s putting in her head? This is quite annoying.

She throws off her covers and dresses herself this time, as the tailor’s been working on modifying some of Maribeth’s old clothing to fit her and delivering it while Max is working with Victor. It makes her feel a bit more independent, not having to summon the staff to manage everything.

She calls Victor’s office via the gem and tells him: “I had another vision.”

“Without even asking for it? She must like you quite a lot,” Victor muses. “Very well. Come down to my office. We’ll try and sort it out, but it’s likely we’ll need more power. Several day’s worth, at least, to get something clear.”

“I’ll be right down.”

When Max arrives, she finds Victor sitting at his desk with his journal open, and she describes the scene as best she can remember. Victor makes the same face Max herself made this morning in her bed.

“She didn’t have to include the ending,” Victor mutters. “She’s playing with us. She knows I’m helping you, too, she sent me a little message this morning as I was having breakfast, _She knows something you don’t know._ Honestly, it seems unbecoming of a deity sometimes.”

Max hides a smirk at the thought of Fate taunting Victor like a schoolgirl, though the twitch in his eyebrow suggests maybe she’s not as stealthy as she thinks. Victor clears his throat. “Regardless, we must obey her rules. We need to give you power. We’ll start with applying a glamour—”

Max scoffs, and Victor looks up. “You have another idea, Maxine? Enlighten me.”

Max pales, but he set the challenge, so...”I—I was thinking, maybe, maybe you could teach me to reinforce the wards? O-or some of the other spells that are useful for maintaining the estate.”

Victor cocks an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting idea, but the wards are too precious to permit an untrained caster to work with them—”

“Then how about Victoria? Can she help me learn them, check them over?”

“I don’t see why—”

“A-and if it’s just the two of us working together until I have a strong enough aura to work with, then you can have a few days to pursue your own work!” Max babbles on, her voice a bit shaky as her mind works. _And also I can have a break from you,_ wants to escape her lips, but she is smarter than that. Most of the time, anyway.

Victor’s silent for a moment, winding his fingers together. “Do you think this apprenticeship of yours doesn’t matter to me?” he asks, his voice low.

“Wha—”

“Do you think your visions are unimportant? That I am not interested in seeing where they lead us?”

“I—”

“Then why are you trying to cut me out of my own mentorship?” Victor’s eyes pierce Max’s own.

“I’m not—”

“Maxine.” He breathes out a puff of air and stands up. “I understand that you are finding me difficult to work with. I am not blind. But let me make something clear to you that I might not have communicated before. These hints of the Progenitor, they all started coming around the same time.” He clasps his hands in front of him. “The day that Arcadia fell.”

Max freezes in place as he comes up in front of her, towering above her. “So do you understand? Why I find your visions troubling, why I want to accelerate your training as much as possible? My daughter could have been lost in Arcadia. And now, your visions state that this prophet, she is coming _here._ It’s _chasing_ her.” Victor’s voice sounds strained. “I need to know what I’m dealing with. I need to protect my daughter.”

Max blinks. She wants to ask, _have you told her that you worry about her? Have you ever shown her that you care at all?_ Because from what Max has seen before, Victor only ever bothers to acknowledge his daughter in order to berate her or test her.

But she stays silent as Victor continues, “So do not think you can simply avoid me and try to learn on your own while living in my estate.”

“I’m not,” Max says as quickly as she can. “B-but if you’re that worried, why not do your own work, try to convince Fate to talk to you, too? Victoria knows what she’s doing, she can teach me, and it’ll give her some practice _and_ something to do. She—maybe she could even be a teacher.”

“I will plan out my daughter’s future, thank you. But you make a fair point. As you have a tendency to.” Victor looks mildly annoyed that he’s semi-praising Max for the second time in two days. “At the end of the day we will have Abernathy judge your aura and determine how powerful it is. Then we shall proceed. I expect to see the two of you _working,_ however. Do not allow Victoria to draw you into her mindless nonsense.”

“Yes, sir. Today will be nothing but work, I assure you.”

“Very well. Off with you. I do have much work I’ve been putting off aside from divining the truth of the Progenitor.”

Max bows briefly and leaves the room, sighing in relief as soon as she’s out. All right. Spells with Victoria. That sounds...well, it sounds a lot less directly stressful than work with Victor, and maybe they can find a way to not be quite so tense around each other. Even if they’re on decent terms now, Max does _not_ want to say the wrong thing and—

Her thoughts stop dead as she’s about to knock on Victoria’s door. _Isn’t this exactly what she was afraid of you doing?_ Such an _idiot._ She’s using Victoria against Victor and not even...

The door swings open before she can finish berating herself, Victoria blinking in surprise. “Uh, hi, Max?” she says, peering around Max’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be with Victor?”

“He wanted me to, um, practice spells with him, you know,” Max stammers, “B-but I told him I’d rather work with you.” She flinches, waiting for Victoria to throw up her walls again and shut her out.

Victoria does seem ready to panic for just a moment, but something seems to tick over in her brain. “Can I say no?” she asks.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s fine,” Max says, “I just thought — you know, it’d get him off both our cases for a while.”

“Hmph. It might. And it’s probably really pissing him off that you think I’m a better caster than he is,” Victoria says to herself with a smirk. “All right, Max. But you’re my student now, got it? You do what I say. Not the other way around.”

“Okay!” Max says, a little too eagerly. “I can work with that.”

“All right. So where’d you want to start?”

“The wards. I feel like I should learn how to reinforce them.”

“Good idea. I even know how to make them, after...” Victoria trails off, looking away. She clears her throat. “I know how to make them. I could teach you sometime. Here, let’s gather up the components, let me show you where to get them...”

Victoria makes a pretty good teacher. Well, Max thinks so, at least. She’s more patient than Victor, more willing to help Max see the flaws in her own technique instead of just scoffing at her. She helps Max trace a perfect circle on the altar outside, scrubbing it away and grabbing Max’s hand, to force the muscle memory, she says. Her fingers wrap delicately, firmly, around Max’s wrist, and shivers run down her spine.

When the circle’s complete, Max can feel Victoria’s eyes on her, questioning, imploring. Max doesn’t know why she’s blushing, why Victoria’s strangely gentle attention is...

Well, it’s nice. After being taught by Victor for the past few days, it’s a nice change, and that’s all.

The wards don’t spark the way they did when Victoria reinforced them, but Victoria says they pulsed just enough, that that’s what they’re supposed to do, that’s what they do when Victor does this. So maybe it’s good enough. Max resists the urge to ask Victoria to do it herself, just to make sure, just so Max doesn’t doom everything. It should be fine. It will be fine. Victoria says so, anyway.

From there, the day’s spent casting all sorts of little things that Victoria knows. Snuffing out and re-igniting the everburning torches in the estate. Rejuvenating some of the overripe fruit in the pantry. Animating a suit of armor to patrol the estate and scare off anything that might try to test the wards (Max suggests putting a fancy hat on it, to Victoria’s refusal and suppressed smile.) It’s surprisingly easy, even if they don’t really talk about anything but more magic. But Victoria knows her stuff, and she seems to actually be excited to tell Max everything she can, all the little tricks and explanations she knows (she loves to point out each component and explain why the shaper chose to imbue it with meaning.) To see Victoria so lively is refreshing, and even though Max can still feel a tense line between them, spending the day alongside her feels almost like having a friend again.

Just before dinner, Victor finds them out in the gardens harvesting dandelions, and introduces them to someone.

“This is Abernathy,” he says as Max stands and brushes herself off. He points to a tall, gangly man with weathered skin and a nasty-looking scar on his forehead, clad in a tight, practical uniform. “He is the foremost of my guardsmen and a fine fire-focused sorcerer. I make use of his primal sense to determine how powerful my aura is before I offer it to Fate. Abernathy, this is Maxine, my new apprentice.”

“Seen her around,” Abernathy says simply.

“How is she doing?” Victor asks.

“Hmm.” Abernathy steps closer and puts his hand out just about right in Max’s face, closing his eyes. “She’s been working, all right. But if it was you, I’d say you’d need more power before you clarify anything. If we could offer up Victoria over there, though, you’d get a novel’s worth out of her,” he adds, opening his eyes and glancing towards Victoria.

“Believe me, the Oracles have tried to get Fate to take the auras of witches. She usually mocks us in our dreams for it,” Victor says irritably. “Very well. The two of you can continue your work tomorrow, if you please. It seems to keep the two of you out of trouble, to actually have goals to accomplish. Come along.”

They share a quiet dinner, and Victor excuses himself to head into another trance. So, without a word, Max and Victoria head out to the gardens and find their spot. Victoria’s cut seems smaller this time, but maybe that’s just Max’s imagination.

Once Victoria’s done, she throws herself back on the dirt and sighs.

“You all right, Victoria?” Max asks gently.

“Gods, it was nice to have something to fucking do. You forget how _bored_ you are until someone makes you not bored,” Victoria replies, closing her eyes. “Thanks, Max.”

“You’re not—I’m not, I don’t know, using you?”

“It’s different.”

“From what?”

“I...it’s just different.”

Max won’t push, so for a moment there’s quiet between them. But it feels comfortable. Safe.

But a more innocent curiosity, a less urgent question, has been in Max for a while, so she has to ask.

“So...you like Hero of the Academy?”

Victoria shoots up, looking defensive, so Max quickly clarifies, “I used to read that _all the time_ back in Arcadia! Every time a new one came out, me and my best friend would wait for it to come to town...”

Victoria’s look softens. “Yeah. I like it.”

“I stopped reading it almost five years ago, are there new ones?”

“Oh my god, you stopped reading at the right time, the new ones are total fucking trash.”

“Really?” Max grins. “You gotta tell me.”

“Okay, so first of all, Heder and Telanie got together—”

“Oh no _way_...”

Victoria spends the next...possibly forever telling Max everything she’s missed with heaping doses of sarcasm, criticism, and speculation on better ways it could’ve gone. Max can only react to each new bit of information, which she’s not sure is quite so bad as Victoria’s saying (some of the things she says happened are things Max sort of wanted to happen) but maybe this is something Victoria’s wanted someone to talk to about for a while, too. And it’s nice, seeing Victoria so alive, so passionate about this silly series. It feels so light in comparison to everything that’s passed between them in the past few days that Max doesn’t dare to get too heated in her disagreements.

She catches herself staring on occasion, a kind of dopey smile on her face. Mostly she catches herself when Victoria catches her, their eyes meeting in the low light of the sapphire and Max quickly trying to make herself less weird and awkward. She’s not sure why she’s looking at Victoria like that, but she’s sure it makes her look like a freak. Victoria doesn’t say anything about it. It’s just a fleeting moment in the moonlight.

Once they’ve both headed off to their beds, Max lays awake, excited at the prospect of repeating this day. As long as it takes. This is a routine she can work with, with as little contact with her supposed mentor as possible and as much time with Victoria as she can manage. _I’m really not alone,_ she thinks as she falls asleep.

The vision comes again, but nothing’s changed. It’s starting to feel like she’s being robbed of good dreams in favor of these creepy near-apocalyptic omens, but she can’t afford to worry about it. Not now. She can’t do anything about it until she’s got a clearer picture, and she can only get that with Victoria.

 

* * *

 

On the fifth day of spellwork and nighttime excursions with Victoria, Abernathy says it’ll take just two more days of work for Max to be ready. Max wishes she had more than a week, but this is important, and she is ready to see what Fate has in store for her. Still, she goes to the garden that night apprehensive. It’s been such a relief to have a break from Victor that just the idea of returning to fulltime instruction puts a nervous tremble in her stomach.

Victoria notices. After she feeds her flowers, she looks over to Max with a curl in her lips.

“You okay?” she asks. “I know I’ve been the one talking all the fucking time when we’re out here.”

“No! No, don’t worry about it,” Max says hastily. “It’s fine, really, I like listening to you—”

“So, no, you’re not okay, then.”

Max tries to respond, but Victoria’s eyes are boring holes through her.

“So?” Victoria asks.

“I—I’m all right. Just, I don’t know, thinking.”

Victoria looks like she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek. Considering something. Finally, she sighs and says, “So. Your friend in Arcadia. Do you know what happened to her?”

Max freezes up. “Oh, um, it’s not that, really, I’m—”

“It’s gotta be killing you. Here you are with someone who was there, and you just don’t know what happened,” Victoria continues. “And I know it’s killing me. Not knowing where people went that night. But...I might know her. I can help.” Victoria looks down for a moment. “The way you helped me. Fair’s fair.” She meet Max’s eyes again, breathes out, and asks: “What was her name?”

Max’s face feels hot. Her throat closes up, tears stinging at her eyes, because she hasn’t even said her name aloud in so long. And Victoria’s doing this for her, willing to relive that awful night just to give her some peace. Victoria fidgets, seeming unsure whether to reach out or stay put.

“C-Chloe. Her name was Chloe Price,” Max manages at last.

Victoria’s silent. Completely silent. Max looks up at her and finds that she seems to have stopped breathing entirely.

“Chloe Price,” Victoria repeats. “The sorceress. Right?”

“S—she might’ve turned out to be one, she wasn’t when I—”

“The fire-focus,” Victoria continues, clenching her fists at her sides. “The dropout.”

“Victoria, what—”

Victoria shoots to her feet, one hand cupping her cheek instinctively, covering a scar that’s not visible. And without another word, she’s fleeing, running back through the gardens before Max can comprehend what’s happening. She struggles to her feet, feeling sluggish, losing track of Victoria — and the layout of the gardens — until she listens for her footsteps in the dark.

She manages to follow them, and finds the back door ajar. She rushes in and catches up with Victoria as she’s placing both her hands on the door to her own room, breathing heavily.

“Victoria,” she whispers softly, “What—what’s wrong?”

Victoria takes in a gulp of air, closing her eyes. “Chloe was the one who burned me.”

Max’s head spins. She opens her mouth, but what words could she have?

“After that,” Victoria says finally, standing up straight, “she ran off into the Wilds. She’s gone. I don’t...I don’t know anything. I’m useless to you.”

“Victoria...” Max breathes, stepping closer. But as soon as her hand touches Victoria’s shoulder, Victoria wrenches open the door and runs inside, closing it in Max’s face a second later.

And then there’s nothing, no sound in the manor at all, just more vague worries and blurry ideas in Max’s head, swimming in there as she runs her fingertips over the word of Victoria’s door. She could go in, could keep trying to talk, but she knows Victoria well enough by now to know that that won’t work. That Victoria will have to come around to it on her own.

She goes to her room with Victoria’s words echoing in her mind. _Chloe was the one who burned me. She ran off into the Wilds._

_She’s gone._

Max takes the crystal ball from its case and cups its curves in her hands, praying for Fate to show her a sign. Anything. She misses the comfort of that old toy, misses the sound of Chloe’s voice, curses herself for never having the courage to talk to her.

_She’s gone._

That night, the vision doesn’t come. Just Fate’s words again, repeating themselves:

_She is coming here._

_She is coming back._


	8. A Gentle Advancement

_I’m useless to you._

Victoria’s own words keep repeating themselves. She _is_ useless. Everything she did in Arcadia had to come back, didn’t it? Absolutely everything. Letting herself be used, her rebellion against it, and the girl caught in the crossfire. Of course Chloe would be the one Max used to know, the one that’s really on her mind whenever she’s with Victoria. Who else would it be?

Victoria curls up against her door, running her fingers through her hair. She should be angry. At Chloe, or Max, maybe. But she’s never been able to blame Chloe for what she did. Victoria’d taunted her, tried to poison her against Rachel, and even if Rachel had deserved it, Chloe hadn’t. Chloe was a fucked-up girl in the middle of a web of lies, and if Victoria had seen anything through the crystal ball, it had been Chloe’s foolish, pure hope that someone good would stay in her life. Undiluted love, whenever she looked at Rachel. And Victoria had decided that it was her place to ruin that.

Victoria wonders, for a moment, how it all would’ve gone if Max had stayed in Arcadia. Would Chloe have even needed Rachel with someone as...as Max as Max is hanging around? Someone kind and sweet, so supportive, so...

Someone Victoria doesn’t deserve.

She’d let herself get her hopes up. She’d taken every scrap of evidence that Max might actually care about her, might one day want to... It was the little glances in the moonlight, blushes in her cheeks, the way she seemed to vibrate at Victoria’s touch. Victoria could briefly imagine a world where she meant something to Max, where she mattered. Where they could really...

But that’s never going to happen. Not now. Not now that Max knows the history between her and Chloe, not now that Victoria’s revealed herself to be the monster that she is. Victoria should just give up. She couldn’t give anything back to Max if she tried. She can’t make Max feel the way that Max makes her feel, validated and secure and safe. All she’ll ever bring Max is confusion and hurt and ruin.

Unless...

No. Victoria can’t let herself think about an _unless._ She can’t bring herself up only to smack herself down again. It’s comfortable in this pit. It’s where she’s lived all her life. She stands up heads to her bathroom, washes the mud off of herself, tries to focus on just getting ready for bed and preparing for tomorrow.

But what will she do tomorrow? After what she said tonight? How can she go back to acting like they’re ever going to be friends again, how can she act like a teacher, when Max knows her history?

That _unless_ is taking shape in her mind as she tosses and turns. Gaining details. Turning into a plan. She groans at herself, at her own hopes, at memories of the dreams she’s had over the past few days where everything _does_ somehow work out and Max is as wonderful as she imagines. Unless, unless, unless.

By the time she falls asleep, she knows she has to try it. Even if it’s risky, even if it’s just climbing up to a cliff to let Max push her off. She can’t live with being this way anymore. She has to be better.

 

* * *

 

So when Max comes to her door the next morning, Victoria has to steel herself to say no. Just for today, because that _unless_ won’t work if she has to be by Max’s side for the whole day. She and Victor have to be occupied, otherwise this will never work, and Victoria’s not going to wait for another opportunity. She has to fix this and she has to fix it now.

She opens the door and takes a deep breath. “Max, I can’t teach you today,” she says, as steady as she can manage.

Max’s face falls. She looks at her feet. “Is it because...Victoria, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“I’ll explain tonight. Meet me at the altar after dinner.” Victoria can’t give it away. But Max shouldn’t be worried all day long. She has to know that Victoria isn’t back to hating her, that she’ll never be back to hating her.

“A-all right. Just let me know if you’re okay, all right?”

“I’m fine, Max. Trust me.”

“Okay.” Max nods. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, Max, now go find my father and get him off his ass.”

Max chuckles a little. “Will do. See you tonight.”

Once Max is headed off down the hallway, Victoria retreats back into her room and sits down at her desk, opening the drawer and drawing out her crystal ball. It’s a simple spell to set up; the power’s inherent in the ball, and all she has to do is ask Fate to give her an eye into her own house. She watches her father’s office, waiting to see him and Max leave together. She can’t hear their conversation through the ball (that would require more components than she wants to bother collecting) but Victor doesn’t look particularly pleased. Still, he’s a dutiful man, and as soon as they’re out of there Victoria stashes the ball and leaves her room in her slippers, silently padding through the halls of the manor until she hears them coming through. She ducks into a reading room while they pass by on their way out to the garden and Victoria hears snippets of their conversation, Max excitedly explaining some of the spellwork Victoria had taught her to Father. Victoria can’t help but smile. Max has a knack for spellcasting, with the right teacher. She’ll be a great Oracle someday.

Once they’re gone, she steals into Victor’s office and begins carefully opening the drawers in his desk. Collections of prophecies and dream journals, old tea leaves and palm-reading guides, even older treaties with Druidic organizations and families. Not what she’s looking for. She stands up at his desk in a huff, putting her hands on her hips. He didn’t take it to his own room, did he? That’d be creepy, but...but just the right amount of creepy for Victor, just the way he tends to handle his business around here.

So it’s back upstairs and tiptoeing towards his room, making sure no staff spot her, no maids or cooks or any other servant that might be wandering the halls. Not that she thinks they’d report her, but if Victor notices what’s missing she wants to have as much plausible deniability as she can muster.

She eyes his door carefully. She’s always suspected that he has some kind of ward on his room, some way to tell if someone enters without his wishes. But maybe that’s just paranoia, because there’s no hints of any visible enchantment, and it’d honestly be too much effort to reinforce it every day given the way magic operates around here. Still, she’s careful to push the door open very lightly, waiting to feel the tripwire break and a great screaming bat to come flying at her face or something. But there’s nothing much in here. His room is much like Victoria’s, everything neatly squirreled away in drawers and cabinets and closets, near-spotless, the only sign that it belongs to him at all is the oversized crystal ball sitting on his desk with a magnifying apparatus attached to it.

She wonders what he stares at, in here, alone at night. What he needs to see so clearly. But that can wait for another time. She’s on a mission.

Her search is quick and thorough, nothing coming up until she finally gets down on the floor and checks under the bed. There’s a box, not too big, that catches her eyes immediately. She drags it out to the floor and sits cross-legged while she opens it, and there it is.

The stuffed owlbear is _really_ quite ragged. It’s missing an eye, and one of the arms has lost most of its claws and is about to fall entirely off. It’s sort of cute, though. It’s a very Max little object, and Victoria treats it gingerly as she pulls it out. But the other contents of the box catch her eye.

She recognizes these little trinkets. Things she’d brought from home and thought she’d lost, necklaces and bracelets that friends bought her in the city, friends she hasn’t heard from in years. Figurines of heroes from books and tales she'd loved as a child. She runs her fingers through them, her mind blanking. He’s had them all this time? Why? Why would he take these from her?

She finds her answer in the papers beneath them, a series of letters signed by both Victor and Maribeth. The lines blur as she reads them.

_She’s absolutely miserable here. She should stay in Citadel where she can receive instruction from the local witches, and I can’t take care of her, do my job, and manage the estate at the same time. You need to take some responsibility for your daughter._

_I_ am _taking responsibility for her. She’s better off away from the brats she used to associate with, those people born into wealth and power without having to work for it like you and I did. We can’t allow her to get a big head. She must know how to work, and how to be alone in that work when the world is against you. It will do her no favors to pine for Citadel. Teach her self-reliance. If she continues sending me those pathetic letters I may have to reconsider this marriage and find her a school that will really teach her how to live. The hard way._

She shakingly sets the letters back down. Neither of them wanted her with them. Not ever. They wanted to foist this burden off on each other. She remembers the letters she used to send her mother, sure that she would take her in, sure that it was Father who demanded she stay out here in the middle of nowhere. But it was both of them who wanted her away, both of them who wanted her to be better than she ever was.

If she’d been born blessed, like Max, would they have done the same thing? Or would at least one of them love her? Or if she’d developed a sorcerer’s elemental power, would she be cast off entirely, sent off to the Primal Core and forgotten because she’d be too dangerous?

Why didn’t they ever just try again? Were they afraid they’d end up with another useless sack of flesh?

Victoria feels sick. She wants to bleed all over these papers, feed them to the beasts of the wilds. Feed herself to the evil energies that lurk outside the estate. But then she glances back at what she came here for, and she shoves the box back under the bed and tucks the toy under her arm and prays this will work. That she can matter to someone. Help someone. Even in some twisted way, even if only as an apology, she wants nothing more than for someone to want her around.

When she returns to her room, she finds herself lying back on her bed, the owlbear on her lap, toying with the frayed threads coming out of where its eye used to be. Damaged. Broken. But still incredibly valuable to one specific person.

She curses herself. Stop daydreaming, you’re only halfway done. She stands back up, stuffs the owlbear into her satchel, and heads back down into the manor. She’s got a few more things to get ready.

 

* * *

 

She’s waiting out at the altar with a lit sapphire in its center, fingers tightening and releasing on the strap of her satchel. She excused herself from dinner early to get everything ready. Hopefully Max knows the way to the altar by now or this could end up taking a long time and Victoria’s nervous enough as it is. The last thing she wants is for her attempt at reconciliation to come at the end of a hurried search through the gardens at night and probably getting caught by Abernathy.

But Max does show. She steps into the clearing like she’s afraid the grass will leap up and bite her, her hands flat on her dress, her lower lip tucked into her mouth. Victoria feels a chill in her chest, because she’s actually going to do it. Victoria’s going to do this crazy _unless_ thing and pray it works. Pray it matters enough for Max to understand what Victoria’s trying to say.

“Max,” she whispers, beckoning her over. Max gives her a shaky smile, and now Victoria can see the nervous energy running through her, too.

“Victoria, what _is_ all this?” Max asks as she steps closer, circling around the altar to stand at Victoria’s side. “You’ve got a spell ready...”

Victoria takes a deep breath. “I have something for you.” With fumbling fingers she reaches into her satchel and holds out the owlbear like a peace offering.

There’s a moment of total, painful silence. And then Max _squeals._

 _“Victoria!”_ she cries, leaping forward and wrapping her in a huge hug, crushing the toy between them. “You found him, you found Captain, oh, thank you thank you thank you so _much..._ ”

Victoria closes her eyes, feeling Max’s warmth, her total gratitude. Victoria could stay here forever, but she’s not done yet. She waits for Max to pull away, watches the way her wide blue eyes stare at Captain as she takes him and cradles him in her hands.

“One more thing,” Victoria says after taking another deep breath and readying herself. “Put him in the middle of the circle there and give me your hand.”

Max nods, and as she gingerly puts Captain down between the emeralds tied together with red ribbon, Victoria pulls her silver knife from the satchel and takes it from its sheath. “Do you trust me?” she asks as she delicately takes Max’s wrist and positions her nervous hand over the toy.

“Y-yes,” Max stammers. “Will it hurt?”

“A little. Just hold still. You’ll see.”

Max gulps as Victoria slowly readies the knife, placing its point on Max’s index finger.

“Ready?”

“Oh gods just do it already,” Max breathes, squeezing her eyes shut, and Victoria has to fight from laughing. One quick poke and there’s a drop of blood. Victoria sets the knife down and squeezes Max’s finger, drawing out two, three, four, five, letting them hit the owlbear’s torn ears. Victoria releases Max, and she immediately draws the finger into her mouth and sucks off more blood as Victoria slides the knife back into its sheath, back into her bag.

“All right. Step back.” Victoria approaches the altar, closes her eyes, and opens her heart to the god of love, for it is he that governs how souls intertwine. Her words are perfect. Her pronunciation just so. And when she is finished, there’s a flash, the gems turning to coal, the ribbon shriveling into dust, the blood lifting itself from Captain’s head and misting into the night.

“What did you do?” Max asks quietly as Victoria lowers her hands and opens her eyes.

“Watch.” Victoria moves her hand towards Captain, and as soon as she touches his head, she feels a powerful jolt strike her body, a loud _crack_ reverberating through the gardens and forcing her hand away. “Damn!” she curses, shaking her hand at her side. “Never actually touched one of those before.”

“One of what?” Max asks, looking nervously at the owlbear.

“A soulbound object,” Victoria explains. “It’s...it’s yours now. Only yours. No one else can ever touch it. You should have something that’s yours.” Her voice turns into a mumble as she finishes, looking down at her feet. “Now he can’t take it from you. No one can.”

“Victoria...” Max’s fingers brush Victoria’s cheek. “I...”

“I wish I had better news for you,” Victoria admits, a flush coming to her cheeks. “I wish I was better at Blackwell, I wish I’d never done what I did, I wish it was still _there_ instead of what happened to it...I wish I hadn’t been Chloe’s enemy.” She hugs herself. “I want to be better. You...you make me better. I think.”

“Look at me,” Max says, her fingers lifting under Victoria’s chin. Their eyes meet, and Victoria just wants to blurt out everything, but Max has to talk first. “Whatever happened at Blackwell is over now. Okay? I don’t know what happened. I don’t have to know. We can leave it in the past.”

Victoria nods.

“Do...do you want to feed your flowers?”

Victoria can feel the swirl of emotions threatening to overwhelm her, but for once, she doesn’t want to expunge them with pain. “No,” she answers. “Can we stay out here for a minute?”

“Of course.”

Victoria separates from Max, finds a clear spot on the ground and lays down, staring up the wavering stars beyond the wards. Max gets down beside her, their faces so close as they stare up into the night.

“I was supposed to go to Blackwell,” Max says after a while. “If...if it was still there, and I was going this year, do you think we would’ve been friends?”

Victoria snorts. “Hardly. I would’ve been stupidly fucking jealous of you, and I would’ve treated you like shit, and you’d hate me. That’s who I was when I was there.”

Max looks pensive when Victoria looks over at her. “I like to think that we could eventually get along. Just...it might’ve taken longer, but...”

“Max,” Victoria begins, shifting onto her side. All her instincts are telling her not to do this. Not to show her weakness, her desire, what’s burned in her like a disease for days, months, years. Attached to different people at different times, but maybe, just _maybe,_ this is the right one. “I...” She can’t get it out, not even as Max shifts to look at her.

“Is something wrong?” Max asks, putting a hand on her shoulder. “What...”

Victoria should stop. Say it’s nothing. Pretend she’s fine like she always does, but Max’s eyes are burning holes through her. She cares. She wants to know. _Tell her. Tell her!_

Breathe first. Stop staring at Max, that might make it easier. Or harder. Fuck.

“Hey, Victoria...” Max shuffles closer. Victoria’s words aren’t working.

Oh, fuck _this._

She swings her body over, wraps an arm around Max’s shoulders, and kisses her.

She can feel the shock shoot through Max’s muscles, feel her tense up, and for a moment Victoria’s certain she’s fucked everything up again. But then their lips part, and Max’s arm snakes around Victoria’s waist, and she’s breathing like she’s run a mile directly against Victoria’s lips.

“Oh,” Max pants.

Victoria waits for something more than an “Oh.” For confirmation, one way or the other. She closes her eyes and bites her lip and tries to enjoy this moment of closeness in case it never happens again.

Then she feels Max’s lips tentatively graze her own, and something explodes in her chest as she reciprocates automatically, hungrily, Max’s arm tightening around her. After they pull apart, Max sits up and takes Victoria with her, shifting onto her knees directly between Victoria’s legs. She brushes her hair back behind her ear, a flush dark on her cheeks.

“So...” Victoria starts.

“Yeah.” Max’s lips quiver, and oh gods she can’t cry that would be the absolute worst thing. But they start to stretch into a smile, and then a laugh, and Max rushes forward and hugs Victoria again, pushing them both to the ground, Max’s head on Victoria’s shoulder.

“Thank you so much,” she murmurs into Victoria’s dress. “For everything.”

“So you want to—”

Max kisses her cheek and Victoria shuts up, fighting back her own little giggles. It’s working. It’s _working._ It’s _happening._

Max must be thinking the same thing, contentedly breathing on top of Victoria, nuzzling her face into Victoria’s body. There doesn’t seem to be much else to say. Max is light enough that Victoria could stay here, right here, until dawn, until the end of the world itself.

Damaged. Broken. But still valuable to one specific person. And that’s enough.

Max is the one to move first. “We should probably, like, go to bed or something,” she murmurs, lifting herself up. “N-not the same bed!” she adds after a moment of consideration, blushing profusely. “I mean, I—not that I don’t want—”

“Shut up, Max,” Victoria sighs, propping herself up on her elbows and grinning.

“Yeah, I should really—I should do that.” Max covers her mouth and suppresses a laugh. “I never expected — I didn’t even _think_ about if we could be...”

“We can. If you still want to.” Victoria dares to reach out and touch her freckled cheek.

Max nods vigorously. “Yes. Yes, I want to, it’s just, I’ve never been with anyone before, I don’t know...should I do something?”

Victoria rolls her eyes. “We’ll figure it out. You’re here for, what, a year? We don’t need to rush anything.”

“Okay.” Max stands up, taking hold of Captain and hugging him to her chest for a moment as Victoria follows. Then she takes Captain by the arm that isn’t falling off and lets him hang at her side, grabbing clumsily for Victoria’s hand with her own.

Somewhere out in a hidden spot in the garden, vampire blooms wait for a meal that never comes. They shrivel up in dawn’s first light, and feed the earth with their remains.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I do, I do, I do, I do, I—_   
>  _I feel so elated_   
>  _Would you, would you, would you, would you_   
>  _Please bring me joy?_   
> 


	9. All My Promised Thoughts

They stop in front of Victoria’s door, Max’s hand still clammy and shaky in Victoria’s. But it’s nice. It feels so _nice._ Max can barely look at her without wanting to blush and turn away. It all makes sense now, of course it does, all the feelings she didn’t recognize she was having while working so hard to be an Oracle, working so hard to be Victoria’s friend. This is something new, and it’s exciting and Max just kind of wants to kiss Victoria again as they linger.

Victoria squeezes Max’s hand, and Max gathers up the courage to meet her eyes, and that soft smile, and kissing her was really good, wasn’t it? Should she do that again? It feels like a good time to do that.

“Is this goodnight?” Victoria asks quietly.

“It...doesn’t have to be,” Max responds uncertainly. “I want to—talk a little more. About stuff.”

“Stuff,” Victoria repeats, an amused quirk in her eyebrow.

“Do you want to c-come in my room?” Max blushes, remembering her own stupid rambling. No. Nothing too fast is going to happen, that’d be crazy, no sleeping together. Although the idea of sleeping in the same bed with her suddenly sounds appealing, just not the sleeping _together_ thing, not yet anyway, but not ruling it out forever or anything, and Max please pay attention and see what Victoria actually thinks of your suggestion.

Victoria laughs softly. “Sure. Lead the way.”

Max nods and heads down further down the hall. Once they’re in her room, she gently sets Captain down on top of her dresser and lets go of Victoria to sit cross-legged on the bed. Victoria crawls up and sits facing her, seemingly free of her usual impatience, waiting for Max to get something out.

“So, um,” Max begins, twiddling her fingers and staring down at them so she doesn’t have to look in those intense brown eyes, “So, uh, what do you think Victor will do? Like, if he sees us, or something?”

“Don’t know,” Victoria admits with a shrug. “I doubt he’ll be happy, but what can he really do? He wants you to be his apprentice, and having me attached to an up-and-coming Oracle is exactly the kind of shit he dreams about.”

“What about the whole...” Max points between them. “Um...both-girls thing? Is that—is it normal?”

“In Citadel? Anything goes. Nobody cares much one way or the other. I’ve heard of it before. I’ve...sort of been with a girl before. It wasn’t good, though.” Victoria looks off to the side. “Not like this.”

Max breathes a sigh of relief. It _felt_ right, to kiss Victoria, hold her hand, all of that, but she’d never seen...it was always a man and a woman who were supposed to do that sort of thing. She’d heard tales of...other ways, been intrigued by the occasional rumor, but she’d never had a strong grasp of what it meant. What she was. And now she knows, well, sort of. She _definitely_ likes Victoria this way, the more-than-friends way. As for what she herself is...well, that can wait. It’s not important right now.

“Do we...do we want to hide it? Just in case?” Max asks. “I don’t want to rock the boat if we shouldn’t.”

“He’ll find out eventually, but we can try and wait until you think you’re ready for it. You’re not...” Victoria looks down. “You’re not having second thoughts, right? You still want to...”

“Yes, yes, totally yes,” Max confirms, scooting closer and laying her hand atop Victoria’s wrist. “I just...I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“I won’t let him take anything else from me,” Victoria mutters. Her face looks so tight as she picks at the covers, far from the hazy contented look it had earlier. Max wants to bring that back. She likes seeing Victoria like that. Happy. Comfortable. Safe.

 _It’s chasing her._ Victor’s words stab into Max’s mind and she tightens her grip on Victoria’s skin. Suddenly the vision feels urgent, suddenly she needs to know that Victoria will be okay. Not just survive, she survived so much at Blackwell, but truly be okay, truly be happy. Whatever the prophet’s bringing to this estate, Max has to find out what it is and how to stop it, if necessary.

But she can’t do that yet. What she can do is lean forward and gently touch her lips to Victoria’s, show her she cares. Victoria needs to know that. Victoria feels nervous, like the courage she’d shown in the garden is giving way to her insecurities again.

“We’ll figure it out,” Max promises. “I...I really, really like you, Victoria. I want this to work.”

“Me too.” Victoria’s smiling again, so that’s good. “So, um, are we training together again tomorrow?”

“I think I can stand some more time with you,” Max replies, smiling back.

“Good. You need to tighten up your runework.” Victoria’s putting on a smirk.

“Excuse me, miss ‘you’re a natural at this’, my runes are just fine!” Max huffs, falling back on her palms.

“Could be better,” Victoria replies, leaning forward and pinning Max underneath her. Max’s breath seems difficult to come by. She gulps, and Victoria backs off immediately, though not without a chuckle. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up.” Max sits back up and gives her a light push that almost sends her off the bed entirely.

Victoria laughs again, pushing a bit of wayward hair behind her ear. Wait, her hair fell out of place — and there’s the scar, that dark spot on her cheek. Max clears her throat. “Um, Victoria...” She presses a finger to her own face.

“Dammit,” Victoria swears, instinctively covering the mark. “Sorry, Max, I’ll—”

“I don’t mind,” Max adds quickly. “But I know you do.”

“It shouldn’t bother me so much,” Victoria mutters. “I should be like you. Fine with how I look, without any makeup or glamour or anything.”

“You don’t have to be,” Max says gently, putting a hand on Victoria’s knee.

“Y-you should help me reapply it. Tomorrow, okay?” Victoria says tentatively.

“It’s a deal.”

“All right.” Victoria crawls off the bed, and Max suddenly wants to just pull her back down. Have a sleepover, like she’s a kid back in Arcadia again. But she can see the struggle on Victoria’s face as she covers it with her palm, and she knows Victoria doesn’t want to be seen right now. Still, she gets up to see Victoria out the door, taking her hand just at the threshold as she opens the door.

“See you tomorrow,” she whispers as Victoria turns to look at her. Max gives her a kiss before she can stop herself, and the pink in Victoria’s cheeks is absolutely worth the nerves in her stomach, the fact that they could theoretically be seen.

“See you tomorrow,” Victoria repeats, voice light like she’s in some sort of dream. Max watches her go. As Victoria opens her own door, she looks back and sees Max watching, so Max gives her a little wave. Victoria ducks her head and rushes inside quickly, but Max saw that smile again, and that’s what’s important.

She grabs Captain and holds him tight to her chest as she falls asleep. So maybe it’s childish, but this damned stuffed animal now has the marks of two wonderful people on it, and it’s hers, and it’s always going to be hers. And it’s nice to have something to wrap her arms around.

 

* * *

 

The vision comes again, just as destructive as the first time. It’s easier to see the prophet now, that blue hair flying about but still covering her face, the charm hovering off her chest and glowing brightly in the night. Last time the vision was at daytime. Max wishes she could just jot down notes on everything that’s the slightest bit different.

As the tornado approaches, Max looks behind her, and she realizes she’s no longer standing at the edge of the estate but in the center of the gardens, before the altar. The prophet tears apart the hedges as she approaches, and then the tornado vanishes as she drops straight to the ground, right in front of Max. The prophet places her pale, skinny hands on the altar as Fate whispers:

 _She is coming here_ _to strike the specter’s bargain._

_She is coming back._

 

* * *

 

She reports straight to Victor the next day, just in case, before waking Victoria. At the words _specter’s bargain,_ his eyebrows shoot up.

“That’s an interesting turn of phrase,” he murmurs, leaning forward on his desk. “And the most specific she’s been about why the prophet’s coming to my estate. It must be a spell of some sort, something that needs the powers of the nexus to operate. Specter’s bargain,” he repeats to himself. “I’ll look into that. Are you planning on training with my daughter today? We should be ready to get some clarification by the end of the day if so.”

“I am,” Max confirms, thinking idly of how nice it will be to be out in the gardens with Victoria. Where she might be able to steal her away for a few moments in the hidden places. _Stop daydreaming, Max, a demigod is coming_ , she curses herself as Victor stands.

“I’ll search my spellbooks for anything that might be considered a ‘specter’s bargain’. Tria is likely the patron goddess of such a spell, if it truly deals with spirits and ghosts. I’ll tell you what I find before we set down to supper.”

Max lingers in the office for a moment as Victor starts running his finger along a bookshelf. “You may go,” he adds with an irritated glance over his shoulder. With a quick bow, Max is off to find Victoria, and that thought speeds her heart a bit.

Victoria’s already up when Max knocks, her hair still a tad messy. Max can see the little bit of coverup she’s using on her scar, the slight deformation in the skin still visible this close up but probably not from a distance. But she does give Max a smile.

“Ready to start?” she asks.

“Mhmm,” Max answers. “Glamour first today, right?”

“If you want, it’s not a...” Victoria looks away. “I’m not a priority. We do need to get you all ready for your big vision thing, right?”

“You _are_ a priority.”

“Then let’s teach you how to be a proper witch,” Victoria drawls, putting on an imitation of her father’s voice. Max suppresses a giggle, and then Victoria’s taking her down to the gem storage, out to the gardens for a rose.

“How do I cast it on someone else?” Max asks as they approach the altar.

“For most spells you want a part of their body to seal the deal — just one hair will do for stuff that’s easily reversible and not dangerous. The gods want more if you’re going to curse someone, though,” Victoria explains, running a hand through her hair and producing a golden strand, tying it around the rose’s stem. She pulls a spellbook from her satchel and opens it to the same diagram that Victor showed her on her first day of training.

“You’re lucky,” Victoria says quietly as Max starts drawing the circle. “You don’t need this crap.”

“What about my freckles?” Max asks, sketching a rune.

Victoria frowns and scrubs it off, then points to the rune in question in the spellbook. “See, this line’s at sort of a 37-degree angle. Maybe we should get you a protractor for a little bit, get you used to how specific the gods want things sometimes.” As Max draws it again, Victoria adds, “...your freckles are cute.”

Max blushes and tries not to screw up her sketch again. “But...what about what Victor said?”

“It’s just fashion. Some people can get away with different looks. It’s just...he’s got his own stupid issues. Have you seen him without glamour?” Victoria asks.

“No,” Max admits. “But if he looks like you, he can’t be covering too much, can he?”

“Let’s just say he uses the glamour to get out of taking care of his skin,” Victoria says, a wry smirk on her face, like she’s saying something forbidden and secret.

Max feels a little bit of relief sweep through her. So he’s not as perfect and austere as he pretends. He’s covering for things too. He’s human. Weird.

“Anyway. Just ask Athar to cover my scar, keep my hair straight, all that.” Victoria steps back from the altar as Max finishes her preparations.

An idea strikes Max. “Anything else? It’s _your_ glamour. Fashion, like you said. We could do whatever we wanted.”

“I—I shouldn’t.” Victoria sounds uncertain. “He wouldn’t like it.”

“Something small, then?” Max urges. “Come on, you deserve to have a little fun.”

“I, um...” Victoria rubs her neck. “I always kind of wanted green eyes. Like the ones you had when you cast it. I dunno why, my dad’s eyes are in right now, but...”

“Green eyes it is.” Max takes the spellbook and reads the incantation, and when she’s finished she turns to Victoria to see if it all worked. Her old glamour’s back in place, like Max asked, but she has to step closer to get a good look at her eyes.

Oh. Wow. That really suits her. They’re quite bright, pale green, and they make her look vibrant and alive. Or maybe that’s just her expression. Or her face, generally.

Max clears her throat as Victoria pulls out a hand-mirror and studies herself. “What do you think?” Max asks.

Victoria smiles at her reflection. “Pretty good, Max.”

Max can’t help it. She reaches out and cups Victoria’s cheek in her hand, to feel the reality and see the choices she’s made for herself on top of it as close as she can get. “You look beautiful,” Max says quietly.

Victoria chuffs. “Complimenting your own work? Real humble there, Max.”

Max just smiles and kisses her. And again.

They lose themselves there for a while, until duty calls them back to attention. Max can’t slack too much today. She has questions for Fate.

 

* * *

 

Victor admits he’s found nothing useful in his spellbooks at dinner, noting a fair amount of spells dealing with bringing back the spirits of the dead but that most of them require a body in some form or another, and that there’s no record of any kind of deal to be made with a specter. He seems frustrated, but states that Max will have to come with him after dinner. Max casts a look Victoria’s way as she leaves the dining room, receiving a pitying glance in response. But their fun can wait. This does matter, and Max is more than ready.

“I’ve decided we cannot let Fate communicate with you in her usual fashion. While clarifying visions is easier and you already have practice at it, I think we absolutely need you to enter a trance in order to get the most out of your aura,” Victor states as he leads her down a set of stairs, below the first floor of the manor and into cramped basement quarters. It’s cool down here, and the air smells a bit musty. As she walks through the halls, Max spots what must be the staff’s rooms, as well as more food storage than she might’ve suspected.

She suddenly catches onto Victor’s words as her mind returns from its wandering. “W-what does that mean, exactly?” she asks as they come to the end of a hallway.

“It sounds more dangerous and difficult than it is,” Victor replies, opening the door to a circular stone chamber, five censers hanging on the walls, located at the points of the pentagram etched into the floor in red paint. A chandelier hangs above the center of the pentagram, lit with low scarlet flames, flickering soundlessly as the two of them step into the echoing room. “Stand in the center there. I will explain.”

Max does as he asks, and he steps in front of her and opens his jacket, pulling out a vial filled with red powder. “This is crushed augurnut,” he begins. “It grows in the Wilds where Fate’s influence is particularly strong. Eaten in its whole form, it acts as a mild magical drug, filling the body with a sort of buzzing, tingling sensation, enhancing creative thought and shifting one's perception of time...and somewhat reducing intelligence. When diviners like you and I eat it, we can gain a little more insight into some of Fate’s simpler prophecies. But when powdered, and burned as incense, we can inhale Fate’s strongest physical influence on our world — and gain access to her mind.”

He opens the vial and fills one of the censers with the powder, then does the same with the rest as Max watches. “You will have to be alone when you communicate with her. This room will fill with red smoke and it will at first seem difficult to breathe, but hold on and steady your mind. You will feel it when you have entered her domain. You can speak aloud to her, and she will answer your questions until your aura is drained. Typically a trance seems to last only a few minutes when you’re in it, but you are entering a god’s mind and time will act strangely for you. You could easily exit this chamber at dawn feeling as though you’ve just entered.”

As he fills the last censer, he turns to Max. “Feel free to sit down and cross your legs beneath you. I find it’s most comfortable when waiting for the smoke to enter your body.”

Max sits down, shaking at the prospect of both giving herself up and knowing the truth of what she’s been seeking since she arrived at the Chase Estate. She tries to steady her breathing, preparing herself.

“Are you ready, Maxine?” he asks.

“Y-yes.”

Victor speaks a small incantation, and all five censers spark. Max can hear them smouldering.

“Good luck, Maxine. Find me answers.”

With that, Victor leaves and shuts the door behind him. Max breathes in, out, in, out, watching the smoke pouring from the incense, the way it seems to swirl and form shapes of its own accord, following the lines of the pentagram as it moves. The smoke starts to build a solid wall around her. It floods in all at once, choking her with its strange grainy texture as she coughs and gags on it, but she stays where she is, closes her eyes, waits. She takes long, shallow breaths, and something’s changing. A low hum sounds at the back of her head. She stops being able to hear her own heartbeat, her own breathing patterns, and soon all that’s left is that hum. It starts to gain form, turning scratchy and strange, until it suddenly snaps into focus. It sounds like a rickety wooden wheel, spinning ever onward.

Max opens her eyes and sees only blackness. And she knows.

“Can you hear me?” she asks.

 _Yes, my chosen._ The black surges with red light, blinking in time with Fate’s words.

Woah. Okay. Call and response with a goddess. No big deal. Victor does this all the time.

“Is the prophet of the new god dangerous?” is her next question. What she does isn’t as important as that.

_Yes._

“Can we protect ourselves from her?”

_Only you can stop her._

Max feels a chill run down her spine.

“Is the prophet chasing Victoria?”

_No. But they have known one another. The prophet is dangerous to her most of all._

Something clicks in Max’s mind. Factors from everything Victor’s said, Victoria’s past. She needs to know.

“Who is the prophet?”

_An old friend, presumed lost._

Max’s heart leaps in her chest. _Chloe._ It could only be her. Of course it would be. No one could ever stop Chloe Price without a fight. As for how she became the prophet...Max can ask her that when she gets here. But she needs to know more, even as the blackness begins to fade and Max can see the stone of the chamber again.

“What is she trying to do? Why is she coming here?”

_She is bringing her back._

“Who?”

_Her maker._

Well, this is getting nowhere. Fate doesn’t like to say names, does she? Well, Max needs to know just one more thing.

“When is she coming?”

But Fate’s gone. Or, almost gone. Max can still feel the buzzing in her head, even though the trance is clearly over by now, the wooden wheel done spinning. She stands up and almost immediately falls down again, feeling woozy as she stumbles over to the door. As she swings it open, she spots Victor leaning against the wall, nose in a book. He snaps it closed as she exits.

“It’s nearly midnight. What did she say?” he asks.

“I know who the prophet is,” Max says quickly. “Her name is Chloe Price, she used to be my best friend in Arcadia—”

“Is she dangerous?” Victor interrupts.

“I—not when I knew her, but Fate said she was. But she also said...I’m the only one who can stop her.”

Victor looks sick, but he maintains his calm. “I see. Then remain on alert, Maxine. Did she say when she was coming?”

“No,” Max admits. “I lost her right as I asked.”

“She may still deliver your answer. She likes to make us wait.” He rubs his eyebrows and sighs. “Go to bed, Maxine. I’ll try to talk to her myself. Tell me if you hear anything more.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“Fate makes fools of us all. She always has. I hope you can stop your friend from causing the destruction you’ve seen. But it is in her hands now, not ours. As much as I hate to admit it.”

He looks tired. Drained. Max wonders how much this whole thing has taken a toll on him that he’ll never admit to. She wonders if he needs someone to love, too.

But he’s not interested in that, himself. He’s walking right into the trance chamber, and Max needs to find her way out of here.

Once she gets up to her room, she hugs Captain tight again. _Chloe._ Chloe’s coming back. Chloe’s coming here. Chloe’s alive, and insanely powerful, and the prophet of some new god. Despite what Max told Victoria, she sort of wants to know everything. Every detail. If only she knew when Chloe was coming! Then she could at least tell herself to wait until then.

Just as she’s about to fall asleep, Fate comes back to her, and at first, all Max hears is a tinkling laugh. Fate gives her just one word.

_Tonight._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _All things 'round us continue turning_   
>  _Presently my axis is tilting down_
> 
> We're not done yet.
> 
> "Presumed Lost" and "Specter's Bargain" will commence in two or three weeks while I write some other ideas out of my head. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
